SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES 
IN  SHAKESPEARE 


PUBLISHED  UNDER  THE  AUSPICES 

OF   THE 

ELIZABETHAN  CLUB 

YALE  UNIVERSITY 


SOME 

TEXTUAL    DIFFICULTIES 
IN    SHAKESPEARE 


BY 

CHARLES  D.  STEWART 


NEW  HAVEN:    YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON:    HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

MDCCCCXIV 


Copyright,  1914 
BY  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

First  printed  September,  1914.    1000  copies 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THAT  RUNAWAYS'  EYES  MAY  WINK 

Romeo  and  Juliet I 

AIRY  AIR  Troilus  and  Cressida 14 

BOTH  TO  MY  GOD,  AND  TO  MY  GRACIOUS  KING 

Hamlet 20 

BUT  THAT  TO  YOUR  SUFFICIENCY  ...  As  YOUR  WORTH 

is  ABLE  Measure  for  Measure 26 

THE  BODY  is  WITH  THE   KING,  BUT  THE   KING  is  NOT 
WITH  THE   BODY 

Hamlet 34 

GRATES  ME.    THE  SUM 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 41 

I  SEE  THAT  MEN  MAKE  ROPES  IN  SUCH  A  SCAR 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well    ....       44 
ARMADO  o'  THE  ONE  SIDE 

Love's  Labour's  Lost 52 

FOR  DEFECT  OF  JUDGMENT 
Is  OFT  THE  CAUSE  OF  FEAR 

Cymbeline 56 

IGNORANCE  ITSELF  is  A  PLUMMET  OVER  ME 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor      ....       6 1 
GREATER  THAN  GREAT,  GREAT,  GREAT,  GREAT  POMPEY 

Love's  Labour's  Lost 67 

SOME  RUN  FROM  BRAKES  OF  ICE  AND  ANSWER  NONE 

Measure  for  Measure 69 

QUALTITIE  CALMIE  CUSTURE  ME! 

Henry  V 7* 

BUT  HERE,  UPON  THIS  BANK  AND  SHOAL  OF  TIME 

Macbeth 75 


viii  CONTENTS 

•""-  BUT  HE  THAT  TEMPERED  THEE  BADE  THEE  STAND  UP        PAGE 

Henry  V 79 

To  SAY  "Ay"  AND  "No"  TO  EVERYTHING  THAT  I  SAID 

Lear 83 

THEY   KNOW  YOUR   GRACE   HATH   CAUSE   AND  MEANS 

AND  MIGHT; 
"— *    So  HATH  YOUR  HIGHNESS 

Henry  V 88 

THE  BLACK  PRINCE,  SIR;  ALIAS  THE  PRINCE  OF  DARK- 
NESS All's  Well  that  Ends  Well     ....       93 
LEONTES'  OBSCURE  SOLILOQUY 

The  Winter's  Tale 96 

THE  CLEAREST  GODS 

King  Lear no 

To  DANCE  THEIR  RINGLETS  TO  THE  WHISTLING  WIND 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream        .     .     .     116 
MOVE  THE  STILL-PEERING  AIR 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well     ....     119 
To  PAY  FIVE  DUCATS,  FIVE,  I  WOULD  NOT  FARM  IT 

Hamlet 123 

YES,  FOR  A  SCORE  OF  KINGDOMS  You  SHOULD  WRANGLE 

The  Tempest 125 

CLEOPATRA'S  ANSWER  TO  CAESAR 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 131 

LORD  BARDOLPH'S  REPLY 

2  Henry  IV 135 

As  THOSE  THAT  FEAR  THEY  HOPE,  AND^  KNOW  THEY  FEAR 

As  You  Like  It 147 

PAINTED  HOPE 

Titus  Andronicus 155 

THOSE  BATED  THAT  INHERIT  BUT  THE  FALL  OF  THE  LAST 

MONARCHY         All' s  Well  that  Ends  Well    ....     158 
THE  SPIRIT  OF  CAPULET 

Romeo  and  Juliet 162 

HER  C's,  HER  U's  AND  HER  T's 

Twelfth  Night 164 

A  FIXED  FIGURE  FOR  THE  TIME  OF  SCORN 

Othello 170 


CONTENTS  ix 

I  LOVED  FOR  INTERMISSION  PAGE 

Merchant  of  Venice 173 

MORE  THAN  MINE  OWN;  THAT  AM,  HAVE,  AND  WILL  BE 

Henry  VIII 182 

THY  BANKS  WITH  PIONED  AND  TWILLED  BRIMS 

The  Tempest 192 

MY  BROTHER  GENERAL 

2  Henry  IV 195 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  HAMLET 204 

DEATH'S  HERITAGE 

Romeo  and  Juliet 230 

THAT  SMILES  His  CHEEK  IN  YEARS 

Love's  Labour's  Lost 234 

WOULD  THAT  ALONE  A  LOVE  HE  WOULD  DETAINE 

Comedy  of  Errors 237 

ADRIANA'S  POINT  OF  VIEW 

Comedy  of  Errors 241 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES 
IN  SHAKESPEARE 


SOME 

TEXTUAL    DIFFICULTIES 
IN    SHAKESPEARE 

RUNAWAY'S   EYES 

Juliet.     Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 
Towards  Phoebus'  lodging:  such  a  waggoner 
As  Phaeton  would  whip  you  to  the  west, 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. 
Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing  night, 
That  runaways'  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalk'd  of  and  unseen.  .  .  . 

(Romeo  and  Juliet,  iii,  2,  6,  Globe  ed.) 

MORE  time  and  effort  seem  to  have  been 
spent  on  this  crux  than  upon  any  other  line  in 
Shakespeare.  In  Furness'  Variorum  edition 
of  the  play,  a  crown  octavo  volume,  twenty- 
eight  pages  of  fine  print  are  devoted  to  a  re- 
view of  the  attempts  that  have  been  made  to 
clear  up  the  meaning;  it  occupies,  in  fact,  the 
whole  index  to  the  play.  The  question  which 
has  been  so  long  argued  is  —  What  does  the 
"runaways"  of  the  First  Folio  mean?  And 
should  it  be  printed  runaway's  or  runaways'? 
In  what  sense  also,  or  in  what  connection,  is 
this  winking  to  be  understood? 

Gollancz  says  that  runaways'  eyes  is  "the 
main  difficulty  of  the  passage,  which  has  been, 


2      SOME   TEXrUAJ,   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

perhaps,  the  greatest  crux  or  puzzle  in  Shake- 
speare." R.  Grant  White,  in  his  Shakespeare's 
Scholar,  p.  373,  says:  "The  error  will  prob- 
ably remain  forever  uncorrected  unless  a 
word  which  I  venture  to  suggest  seems  as 
unexceptionable  to  others  as  it  does  to  me." 
He  then  suggests  rumour's  eyes.  Professor 
Charles  F.  Johnson,  in  his  Shakespeare  and  his 
critics  (1909)  says:  "In  some  cases,  like  'that 
runaways  eyes  may  wink,'  in  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  it  is  impossible  to  hit  upon  a  satisfac- 
tory reading,  though  we  should  like  exceedingly 
to  know  who  'runaway'  was.  The  conjecture 
'rumour's  eyes'  is  not  altogether  satisfactory, 
and  the  question  is  insoluble." 

White,  who  at  first  felt  certain  that  it  should 
be  edited  rumour's,  later  changed  his  view  to 
noonday's,  while  Hudson,  on  the  other  hand, 
printed  it  rumour's  (1880).  Thus  the  struggle 
with  the  passage  has  veered  back  and  forth 
from  the  time  of  Theobald  (1733)  up  to  the 
present  day.  Our  ancestors  have  seen  this 
puzzling  word  of  the  Folio  altered  by  editors 
in  all  sorts  of  ways.  Knight's  note  in  his  pic- 
torial edition  will  give  a  slight  idea  of  the 
trouble : 

"This  passage  has  been  a  perpetual  source 
of  contention  to  the  commentators.  Their 
difficulties  are  well  represented  by  Warburton's 
question:  'What  run-aways  are  these  whose 
eyes  Juliet  is  wishing  to  be  stopped?'  War- 
burton  says  Phoebus  is  the  runaway,  Steevens 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      3 

proves  that  Night  is  the  runaway.  Douce 
thinks  that  Juliet  is  the  runaway.  Monck 
Mason  is  confident  that  the  passage  ought  to 
be,  'that  Renomy's  eyes  may  wink,'  Renomy 
being  a  new  personage  created  out  of  the  French 
Renommee,  and  answering,  we  suppose,  to  the 
'Rumour'  of  Spenser."  Knight  then  adopts 
unawares,  the  suggestion  of  a  compositor  named 
Jackson.  Others,  of  the  present  day,  think 
that  "runaways"  are  prying  spectators  on  the 
street  but  yet  wonder  whether,  after  all,  the 
word  may  not  mean  the  steeds  of  the  sun  whose 
eyes  will  wink  at  sunset. 

More  serious  than  this  change  in  the  inter- 
pretation of  the  word  itself  is  the  fact  that,  in 
the  hope  of  wresting  sense  out  of  the  passage 
as  a  whole,  the  words  are  cut  up  into  quite 
different  sentences  in  various  editions,  the  edi- 
tor ignoring  the  punctuation  of  the  First  Folio 
entirely  and  putting  a  period  here  and  a  semi- 
colon there  as  he  sees  a  chance  to  make  some- 
thing else  out  of  it;  and  this  effort  is  still  going 
on.  Neilson's  edition,  for  instance  (1909), 
has  gone  back  to  a  sentence  division  quite  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  the  Globe  text  of  1895  long 
considered  standard  by  Shakespeare  scholars 
generally.  It  must  be  evident  however  that 
any  ingenious  effort  with  exclamation  points, 
periods  and  commas  must  be  vain  so  long  as 
we  remain  in  the  dark  as  to  the  sense  of  the 
one  word  which  gives  the  point  of  view  of  the 
whole  passage.  As  so  much  of  the  text  is  in- 


4      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

volved,    and    that    in    the    eloquent    climactic 
passage   where   Juliet   expectantly   awaits   the 
coming  of  the  husband  she  has  just  married,1 
it  is  a  point  that  will  be  well  worth  settling 
permanently. 

In  starting  out,  let  us  keep  one  fact  to  the 
fore:  Shakespeare  was  always  true  to  human 
nature  in  any  set  of  circumstances.  He  did 
not  deal  in  elaborate  mythological  allusions 
and  ingenious  figures  of  speech  in  and  for  them- 
selves; his  expressions  are  such  as  will  throw 
the  deepest  and  most  searching  light  upon  the 
human  heart,  and  that  with  an  especial  regard 
for  the  character  speaking.  Second:  he  does 
not  jump  quickly  from  one  figure  of  speech  to 
another  with  such  mere  liveliness  of  fancy  as 
many  critics  think.  He  did  this  advisedly 
according  to  what  might  be  accomplished  by 
it;  and  in  other  cases  he  shows  a  remarkable 
faculty  for  sticking  to  the  subject,  so  to  speak, 
in  long  comparisons  which  are  especially  cal- 
culated to  throw  complete  and  dwelling  light 
on  the  spirit  of  the  speaker.  He  did  this  es- 
pecially at  those  places  where  he  wished  to 
engage  our  minds  for  a  longer  space  upon  some 
point  important  in  the  action  or  in  our  concep- 
tion of  the  character.  The  present  is  a  case  in 
point.  Shakespeare  fully  expected,  when  he 
wrote  this  passage,  that  because  he  had 
paved  the  way  and  thrown  about  the  word  so 
many  figurative  expressions,  all  tending  to  the 
same  point  of  view,  we  would  understand  the 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      5 

sense  of  "runaway's"  at  once  and  gather  the 
beauty  of  this  way  of  saying  it.  Being  of  this 
nature,  it  is  a  passage  which  I  might  explain 
quickly  by  internal  evidence  alone;  but  as  it 
is  a  case  where  scholarship  has  been  at  work, 
almost  two  hundred  years,  any  seeming  so- 
lution of  mine  would  naturally  be  received 
with  skepticism  even  though  it  were  plausible. 
I  must  therefore  not  only  prove  it  internally 
but  prove  it  again  by  reference  to  other  passages 
in  the  plays  which  show  Shakespeare's  natural 
point  of  view  in  just  such  cases  as  Juliet's. 

As  all  lovers  of  Shakespeare  are  not  supposed 
to  be  perfect  in  Elizabethan  English,  we  shall 
set  "runaway's"  aside  a  moment  while  we  dis- 
pose of  the  word  "wink."  This  word,  in 
Shakespeare's  time,  was  not  confined  to  its 
present  usual  meaning  of  shutting  the  eyes 
momentarily.  It  meant  also  the  shutting  of 
the  eyes  with  the  intention  of  keeping  them 
closed,  in  which  sense  it  is  used  repeatedly  by 
Shakespeare.  This  is  well  enough  understood 
by  Shakespeare  scholars,  and  was  known  to  all 
those  editors  who  have  made  an  attempt  to 
read  the  passage. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  attention  to  "Henry 
V,"  v,  2,  327.  We  here  see  Shakespeare  deal- 
ing with  the  subject  of  woman's  modesty. 
Henry  is  trying  to  win  the  hand  of  Katherine 
the  French  princess.  He  is  now  conversing 
with  Burgundy  upon  her  reticence.  Burgundy 
describes  the  princess  as  "a  maid  yet  rosed  over 


6      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

with  the  virgin  crimson  of  modesty."  Her 
maiden  modesty  and  backwardness  to  consent 
to  marriage  he  explains  as  due  to  "her  naked 
seeing  self."  To  which  Henry  replies,  "Yet 
they  do  wink  and  yield,  as  love  is  blind  and 
enforces." 

There  cannot,  of  course,  be  any  doubt  as  to 
the  meaning  of  wink  as  used  in  this  connection. 
We  see  then  that  Shakespeare,  wishing  to  put 
stress  on  maiden  modesty,  takes  the  standpoint 
that  it  will  only  yield  under  conditions  of  dark- 
ness. Now  Juliet  is  in  a  like  position  in  re- 
gard to  what  she  calls  love's  amorous  rites.  She 
is  waiting  secretly  in  the  shadows  of  her  father's 
orchard  for  the  appearance  of  the  husband 
whom  she  has  married  but  a  few  hours  before 
and  whom  she  is  to  receive  in  her  own  cham- 
ber for  the  first  time  that  night.  She  was 
scarce  acquainted  with  him  when  she  married 
him;  she  is  a  maid  like  Katherine  though  mar- 
ried. We  find  her  modesty  accentuated  by 
having  her  look  forward  to  the  time  when 
"strange  love,  grown  bold,  think  true  love 
acted  simple  modesty."  At  present,  as  she 
waits  anxiously  in  the  orchard,  she  has  neither 
grown  bold  nor  does  the  act  of  love  seem  modest 
to  her.  Here  then  we  find  two  parallel  cases 
as  regards  ante-nuptial  modesty,  and  in  both 
cases  we  see  the  word  "wink"  chosen.  In 
Katherine's  case  there  is  no  question  as  to  its 
referring  to  darkness,  and  the  wink  refers  to 
her  own  eyes.  We  shall  therefore  conclude, 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      7 

tentatively,  that  in  Juliet's  case  it  is  the  same. 
It  is  her  own  eyes  that  are  supposed  to  wink; 
but  as  darkness  is  just  falling  it  allows  of  this 
winking,  or  blinding,  being  accomplished  in  a 
different  way. 

But  if  it  is  her  own  sight  she  is  referring  to, 
we  now  have  to  find  a  fit  meaning  for  runaway's, 
because  the  text  reads,  "that  runaway's  eyes 
may  wink."  If  we  are  going  to  assume  that 
it  is  her  eyes  that  are  referred  to,  then  she  is 
the  runaway;  and  now  the  question  arises: 
In  what  sense  may  she  be  considered  a  runaway? 
That  she  has  simply  run  away  from  home, 
being  out  in  her  father's  orchard,  is  hardly  satis- 
factory; it  does  not  fit  the  elaborate  figure  of 
speech.  To  regard  her  as  a  runaway  merely 
because  she  went  secretly  to  Friar  Laurence  to 
be  married  proves  equally  futile  when  put  to 
the  test.  For  we  are  still  left  with  the  prob- 
lem of  finding  out  how  or  why,  in  that  sense  of 
running  away,  she  should  wish  her  eyes  to  close 
or  wink?  She  is  contemplating  actual  darkness 
in  the  oncoming  of  night,  from  which  it  will  be 
seen  that  her  having  merely  run  away  from  home 
for  a  while  that  day  does  not  apply  with  any 
sense  to  her  present  vein  of  thought.  Even 
the  poorest  of  critics,  with  few  exceptions, 
have  seen  that  the  solution  here  is  not  to  come 
from  a  very  literal  point  of  view.  Whatever 
Shakespeare's  meaning  may  be,  the  word  has 
some  figurative  application  which  is  more 
illuminating. 


8       SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

Let  us  turn  next  to  "All's  Well  that  Ends 
Well."  The  chaste  Diana,  whose  Italian  up- 
bringing, like  Juliet's,  has  made  womanly 
modesty  the  one  great  meaning  of  life  to  her, 
finds  herself  contemplating  a  crucial  moment. 
She  is  dealing  with  Bertram  under  circumstances 
of  secrecy;  their  relations,  if  Bertram  has  his 
way,  are  to  be  by  stealth.  Certain  words  rise 
to  her  lips  as  she  contemplates  the  step  of  de- 
serting her  colors  and  leaving  her  girlhood  for- 
ever behind  her.  As  she  expresses  it,  she  is  in 
a  pass  where  "we"  (meaning  women  generally) 
"forsake  ourselves."  Now  forsake  certainly 
means  to  desert  or  give  up  what  we  feel  ought 
to  be  clung  to;  and  so,  reading  this  "All's  Well" 
passage  in  the  strict  light  of  the  context  we  find 
one  of  Shakespeare's  women  regarding  herself, 
in  connection  with  the  giving  up  of  her  prin- 
ciples of  maidenhood,  as  a  deserter  or  runaway. 
It  is  very  apt  and  luminous  of  her  inner  life. 
In  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  we  see  Shakespeare 
dealing  with  a  young  Italian  girl  of  the  same 
type  of  womanhood.  She  and  Romeo  have 
been  secretly  married,  and  in  the  evening  of 
that  same  day  we  see  her  waiting,  in  a  trans- 
port of  anticipation,  among  the  orchard  trees. 
The  blood  has  mounted  to  her  cheeks  as  she 
sees  her  girlhood  about  to  be  relinquished; 
she  has  a  lively  sense  of  the  too  garish  day; 
and  being  so  modest  she  wishes  night  to  fall 
speedily  so  that  her  own  eyes  may  wink,  or 
be  blinded;  for,  as  she  says: 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      9 

Lovers  can  see  to  do  their  amorous  rites, 
And  by  their  own  beauties; 

Which  is  to  say,  without  eyes  or  the  help  of 
light.  But  deeper  in  her  consciousness  than 
this  natural  reticence,  is  the  feeling  that  she  is 
deserting  that  which  has  been  the  standard  of 
her  whole  life  —  a  standard  of  Madonna-like 
maidenhood  which  has  been  her  whole  mode  of 
existence  and  which  has  been  instilled  into 
Italian  womanhood  especially  for  generations. 
It  is  quite  a  step  to  take,  in  her  case  as  in  Di- 
ana's. She  is  a  runaway;  and  may  not  the 
meaning  be  as  luminous  in  one  place  as  the 
other?  The  wording  is  essentially  the  same 
and  the  cases  are  parallel. 

We  have  now  found  two  passages,  each  of 
which  throws  light  on  this  one  line,  and  which, 
considered  in  combination,  give  this  line  com- 
plete and  consistent  sense  so  far  as  it  may  be 
considered  separately.  Accepting  this  meaning 
theoretically  we  must  now  put  it  to  the  actual 
and  conclusive  test.  It  must  fit  the  whole 
context.  If  we  have  found  the  meaning,  then 
that  meaning,  being  Shakespeare's,  will  fall 
in  with  and  illuminate  the  whole  passage. 

Not  only  this,  but  every  word  of  the  passage, 
having  that  unity  and  continual  reference  to 
the  central  idea  which  is  characteristic  of 
Shakespeare's  longer  and  more  elaborate  com- 
parisons, will  focus  its  light  on  this  one  word 
and  show  it  as  having  the  very  idea  we  have 
conjectured. 


IO      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

Upon  examination  we  find  that  it  does  so. 

Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing  night, 
That  runaway's  eyes  may  wink  — 

It  is  characteristic  of  Shakespeare  that  his 
characters,  in  moments  of  high  feeling,  draw 
the  whole  universe  into  their  own  point  of  view. 
They  see  the  world,  as  we  all  do,  in  the  light 
of  self.  This  is  very  strongly  brought  out  in 
Lear  when  he  addresses  the  storm  as  being 
concerned  wholly  with  his  own  interests;  but 
it  is  the  same  in  all  of  Shakespeare's  work. 
He  brings  out  always  that  we  see  the  world 
through  our  own  eyes;  the  universe  takes  on 
the  immediate  hue  of  the  speaker's  thoughts  in 
regard  to  self.  In  the  above  passage  we  see 
suddenly  that  Juliet  is  regarding  the  universe 
in  the  light  of  a  bed!  The  curtains,  which  have 
been  gathered  together  and  drawn  back  in  the 
daytime,  after  the  manner  of  beds  in  those  days, 
will  now  spread  out  and  come  close  together. 
What  will  be  the  result?  Darkness  in  the  bed. 
The  occupant's  eyes  will  then  wink,  or  be  in 
darkness,  even  when  they  are  open;  nothing 
need  be  seen;  —  which  exactly  suits  the  de- 
sires of  the  modesty  to  which  this  passage 
refers.  If  Juliet  is  seeing  night  from  her  own 
standpoint,  then  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  whose 
eyes  will  be  shut  or  blinded;  and  in  that  case 
there  can  be  no  question  as  to  who  "runaway" 
is  or  in  what  sense  she  is  a  deserter. 

The  whole  passage  insists  upon  being  under- 
stood in  that  sense. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      II 

Hood  my  unmanned  blood,  bating  in  my  cheeks 
With  thy  black  mantle. 

In  the  days  when  falconry  was  a  pastime, 
the  falcon  or  hunting  hawk,  which  was  very  shy 
and  difficult  to  tame,  was  carried  about  with  a 
black  hood  slipped  over  its  head  so  that  it  could 
not  see.  This  alone  ought  to  be  sufficient  to 
settle  the  question  as  to  whose  eyes  it  is  that 
are  supposed  to  wink.  Juliet,  speaking  from 
her  own  point  of  view,  makes  it  plain  what  her 
attitude  toward  the  oncoming  darkness  is.  It 
is  not  simply  that  her  blushes  may  not  be  seen 
but  that  she  may  not  see.  In  fact,  Shakespeare 
speaks  of  the  blushes  to  make  all  the  more  vivid 
the  image  of  the  hood  going  down  over  her  own 
head.  And  once  it  is  proved  who  it  was  that 
was  to  wink,  it  is  inevitable,  by  the  sentence 
itself,  who  runaway  is  supposed  to  be.  That 
point  I  believe  we  have  now  taken  up  and  proved 
in  all  possible  ways:  we  have  seen  like  usage 
and  a  like  point  of  view  in  two  other  cases  in 
the  plays;  we  have  seen  that  our  interpreta- 
tion is  in  keeping  with  Shakespeare's  concep- 
tion of  his  ideal  women;  we  have  found  also 
that  it  is  harmonious  with  Shakespeare's  way 
of  making  his  characters  speak  in  moments  of 
deep  feeling;  and  we  have  found  that  the  line 
so  interpreted  and  read  in  connection  with  its 
own  immediate  context  illumines  the  whole  pas- 
sage, the  words  of  which  in  turn  converge  all 
their  light  upon  it  as  upon  a  central  idea.  As 
all  hope  of  solving  any  of  the  remaining  Shakes- 


12      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

pearean  cruxes  has  been  practically,  and  I 
might  say  confidently,  given  up  in  the  last  ten 
or  twenty  years,  this  passage  has  been  marked 
"hopelessly  corrupt,"  as  in  Neilson's  recent 
edition,  on  the  theory  that  a  passage  which  no 
one  could  ever  solve  could  not  possibly  be  as 
Shakespeare  wrote  it.  The  Globe  accordingly 
places  the  obolus  against  it.  And  Professor 
Johnson,  whose  recent  book  I  have  mentioned 
in  the  beginning,  voices  the  generally  accepted 
opinion  that  what  has  not  been  solved  by  this 
time  will  never  be  solved.  This  state  of  affairs 
is  rather  embarrassing  to  one  who  would  fain 
come  forth  and  invite  the  world  to  re-study 
Shakespeare  with  him.  It  is  difficult  enough 
to  state  the  cruxes,  with  which  the  human 
mind  seems  to  have  gone  completely  astray, 
in  a  way  that  will  make  them  simple,  without 
having  to  struggle  against  the  preconception 
that  one  is  simply  working  in  ambitious  igno- 
rance. It  creates  a  state  of  mind  which  is 
unsympathetic  and  therefore  hard  to  help. 
But  yet  what  beauty  is  hidden  away  in  them! 
When  you  consider  the  feelings  of  Juliet  in  the 
light  not  merely  of  her  modesty  but  of  her 
whole  previous  state  of  being  as  a  woman  whose 
one  ideal  was  chastity,  such  a  step  as  marriage 
was  like  deserting  the  very  world  of  maiden- 
hood. What  a  stroke  of  truth  then  to  simply 
have  her  say  the  word  runaway!  So  much  in 
so  little. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE       13 

Dowden's  explanation  is:  "The  central  mo- 
tive of  the  speech  is  'Come  night,  come  Romeo/ 
Having  invoked  night  to  spread  the  curtain, 
Juliet  says,  with  a  thought  of  her  own  joyful 
wakefulness,  'Yonder  sun  may  sleep'  (wink 
having  commonly  this  sense);  and  then  she 
calls  on  Romeo  to  leap  to  her  arms."  He 
agreed  with  Warburton  that  "runaway's" 
means  Phoebus  or  the  sun.  With  the  rest  of 
them  however  he  found  difficulty  in  proving 
that  it  was  well  to  call  the  sun  a  runaway  when 
Juliet  was  complaining  of  its  being  slow.  He 
tried  however  —  with  results  remarkably  hard 
to  understand. 

The  result  of  trying  a  different  sentence  di- 
vision, as  instanced  in  Neilson's  edition  (1906) 
is  that  it  has  left  on  hand  the  following  state- 
ment as  a  separate  sentence. 

Untalked  of  and  unseen 
Lovers  can  see  to  do  their  amorous  rites, 
And  by  their  own  beauties;  etc. 

Can  anyone  imagine  Shakespeare  tendering 
the  piece  of  valuable  information  conveyed  in 
these  first  two  lines! 

The  sentence  division  of  the  First  Folio  is 
correct.  It  is  from  this  standpoint  that  I 
have  explained  the  passage.  The  Globe  text 
is  quite  acceptable  in  this  regard;  but  the 
"runaways'"  of  this  edition  should  be  changed 
to  "runaway's." 


AIRY  AIR 

(TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA,  in,  3,  225) 

And  like  a  dewdrop  from  a  lion's  mane 
Be  shook  to  airy  air. 

(First  Folio) 

And  like  a  dewdrop  from  a  lion's  mane 
Be  shook  to  air. 

(Modern  editions) 

THIS  alteration  of  the  First  Folio  text  is 
wrong  for  a  multitude  of  reasons. 

First.  A  play  is  intended  to  be  acted.  Cer- 
tain lines  are  therefore  especially  fitted  for 
gesture.  In  this  scene  Achilles  is  sulking  in 
his  tent,  and  Patroclus,  thinking  his  strange 
inactivity  could  only  be  due  to  love-sickness, 
comes  in  to  remonstrate  with  him.  With  vivid 
and  compelling  imagery  he  compares  Achilles 
to  the  lion  that  shakes  this  trifle  from  him. 
The  argument  would  naturally  be  enforced  by 
gesture,  for  actors  have  got  to  act;  and  for  this 
purpose  we  have  the  quick  abruptive  shook 
followed  by  the  flowing  airy  air.  The  gesture 
begins  on  "shook"  by  jerking  the  fist  force- 
fully out  from  the  left  shoulder,  and  then  the 
limp  hand,  rotating  lightly  on  the  wrist,  describes 
two  curves  to  depict  the  flowing  air.  We  see 
the  dewdrop  thrown  forth  to  evaporate  —  so 
light  a  trifle  is  love.  The  words  airy  air  are 
what  the  careless  hand  follows  as  it  swings 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE       1$ 

idly  on  the  wrist.  As  there  is  a  contrast  in 
pictorial  idea  between  the  strong  lion  and  the 
inert  pendent  dewdrop,  so  there  is  contrast 
between  the  forceful  half  of  the  gesture  and  the 
part  that  deals  with  air;  and  the  words  fit  it. 
With  the  mere  words  "to  air"  this  cannot  be 
done.  As  a  well-known  dramatic  critic  said, 
to  whom  I  demonstrated  the  dramatic  idea  of 
the  line,  "It  would  cut  the  gesture  off  at  the 
elbow." 

Second.  As  there  is  a  contrast  in  pictorial 
idea  between  the  masterful  lion  and  the  air- 
wandering  drop  of  dew,  and  as  this  is  enforced 
by  contrast  in  gesture,  so  the  words  must  also 
present  a  contrast  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
ear  alone.  And  each  half  of  this  contrast  must 
be  a  true  sound-picture.  This  is  here  accom- 
plished by  means  of  two  flowing  r  s  with  mere 
vowels  between;  and  right  there  a  zephyr 
touches  the  imagination;  we  see  it  flow  and 
turn  and  veer.  This  is  the  very  art  which 
"gives  to  airy  nothing  a  local  habitation  and 
a  name."  And  this  is  raised  in  value  by  juxta- 
position with  shook.  Try  to  say  shook  in  a 
soft  and  flowing  way  or  to  gesture  it  as  such  a 
word.  You  cannot  do  it,  for  its  sounds  are 
essentially  abrupt  and  forceful.  For  this  pur- 
pose of  poetic  drama,  "Be  shook  to  air"  will 
not  do.  The  air  does  not  flow.  It  falls  flat. 

Third.  Editors  from  the  first  have  preferred 
the  abbreviated  line  because  they  have  thought 
the  other  was  not  logical.  The  theory  is  that 


l6      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

to  describe  a  noun  by  an  adjective  made  out 
of  itself  does  not  add  anything  to  it.  The 
theory  would  be  good  if  it  were  true.  But  air 
is  not  always  airy.  Mere  atmospheric  air  is 
not  airy  air.  On  that  dewy  morning  when  the 
lion  rose^and  shook  himself,  it  was  a  time  when 
the  air  was  in  motion;  the  zephyrs  of  morning 
were  abroad.  The  adjective  "airy"  has  be- 
come incorporated  in  the  language  as  expressing 
light  and  changeful  qualities.  Why  then  should 
not  a  poet  who  wishes  to  make  live  air  be  al- 
lowed to  robe  it  in  its  qualities?  Nothing  else 
will  do  to  describe  it,  for  air  is  unique.  Without 
this  adjective  it  is  not  a  moving  morning. 

Fourth.  In  editing  Shakespeare  we  should 
be  guided  by  his  own  practice  more  than  by 
our  logical  theory.  In  "Lucrece"  Shakespeare 
unquestionably  uses  the  expression  "  dear  dear, ' ' 
the  first  word  being  an  adjective  and  the  second 
a  noun  (line  1602).  Any  theory  as  to  what 
Shakespeare  would  do  must  be  discountenanced 
by  what  he  did  do;  and  this  would  warrant  us 
in  letting  "airy  air"  alone.  Moreover,  when 
Shakespeare  wished  to  convey  the  idea  of  mere 
air,  simple  scientific  atmosphere,  motionless 
and  still,  he  was  careful  to  use  words  that 
would  say  it;  therefore  we  have  in  "Macbeth," 
"the  casing  air."  That  is  to  say,  the  globe- 
encircling  or  surrounding  air.  The  idea  con- 
veyed to  the  mind  is  motionless;  the  attention 
is  concentrated  on  atmosphere  itself.  And  so, 
as  Shakespeare  was  so  particular,  it  is  reason- 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE       IJ 

able  to  suppose  that  if  he  wished  to  depict  the 
lightsome  breezes  he  would  say  the  "airy  air." 
Then  too,  as  to  the  art  of  contrast  in  the 
line,  —  ideal,  phonetic  and  dramatic,  —  we 
find  that  he  has  a  particular  penchant  for  the 
abrupt  poetic  uses  of  shook,  and  this  especially 
in  contrast  with  flowing  r's  and  the  open  vowel 
sounds.  In  Antony  and  Cleopatra  he  de- 
scribes an  earthquake  in  two  lines.  You  can 
feel  the  very  shock  and  jolt  of  it. 

....  the  round  world 
Should  have  shook.    .   .    . 

Open  the  ear  to  the  complete  fullness  of  the 
round  world  (note  the  two  r's  working  with 
vowels)  and  then  the  sudden  oscillating  effect 
of  should-have-shook.  There  is  no  ro-o-o-u-u- 
und  wor-r-r-ld  about  that;  the  actor  would 
give  his  fist  a  motion  calculated  to  jar  creation. 
Shakespeare  is  doing  the  same  thing  here  that 
he  is  in  the  passage  from  "Troilus  and  Cres- 
sida"  —  or  would  be  if  we  printed  what  he 
wrote. 

I  might  remark  in  passing  that  the  lines  from 
Antony  and  Cleopatra  are  marked  with  the 
obolus  signifying  that  there  is  editorial  doubt 
as  to  whether  their  present  form  is  a  typograph- 
ical error  or  not  (Globe  edition).  The  reason 
it  is  suspected  of  loss  or  error  is  that  the  words 
do  not  smoothly  fill  out  the  regular  pentameter 
measure  that  Shakespeare  was  supposed  to 
write  in;  and  the  obolus  is  placed  before  "round 


1 8      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

world."  Clark  and  Wright,  our  modern  stand- 
ard authorities,  evidently  did  not  know  that 
the  particular  vocalization  of  the  words,  to 
give  the  intended  effect,  would  have  to  be 
something  different  from  mere  pentameter 
measure. 

When  an  editor  has  no  ear  for  dramatic 
poetry  he  naturally  fails  in  all  such  places. 
Then  we  have  the  text  altered  according  to 
his  idea,  or  else  it  is  queried  as  being  the  mis- 
take of  an  early  type-setter. 

Fifth.  Shakespearean  scholarship  accounts 
for  the  superfluous  "airy"  by  a  very  good  typo- 
graphical theory.  One  of  the  common  errors 
of  a  type-setter  is  that  of  setting  a  word  twice. 
He  has  his  attention  called  away  from  his  work 
and  when  he  resumes  he  sets  the  word  he  last 
had  in  mind  instead  of  continuing  where  he 
left  off. 

But,  let  us  ask  —  If  a  compositor  set  the 
word  air,  and  then  left  off  and  resumed  on  the 
same  word,  what  would  the  result  be?  It 
would  be  "air  air,"  not  "airy  air."  So  also 
with  the  compositor  of  three  hundred  years 
ago.  He  set  up  "ayrie  ayre"  as  we  now  find 
it  in  the  First  Folio.  Here  the  adjective  and 
the  noun  differences  are  observed,  which  would 
hardly  be  the  case  if  it  were  such  an  error.  It 
shows  care  and  attention.  The  theory  by 
which  the  word  is  discarded  is  the  very  one  by 
which  it  should  be  kept. 

I  have  dealt  with  this  line  somewhat  formally 


SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      19 

and  at  length  because  it  has  so  utterly  disap- 
peared from  the  text,  in  the  relations  which 
"airy"  gives  it,  that  the  whole  weight  of  edi- 
torial authority  is  against  me;  and  I  am  de- 
sirous of  having  it  restored  permanently. 

The  only  real  "authority"  in  such  a  case  is 
that  of  internal  evidence.  If  we  change  "airy 
air,"  we  have  not  only  lost  the  soft  suggestion 
of  that  mild  and  dewy  morning  when  the  lion 
rose  and  shook  himself,  but  we  have  given  the 
actor's  arm  no  medium  to  move  in  and  no 
course  to  follow.  The  words  "airy  air"  are 
susceptible  of  the  most  expressive  flourish  of 
a  bandmaster's  wand  —  so  also  of  the  motion- 
ing hand.  But  the  ending  "to  air"  is  all  too 
scant. 


SOUL  AND  DUTY 

King.     Thou  still  hast  been  the  father  of  good  news. 

Polonius.     Have  I,  my  lord?     Assure  you,  my  good  liege, 
I  hold  my  duty  as  I  hold  my  soul, 
Both  to  my  God,  and  to  my  gracious  king. 

(Hamlet,  ii,  2,  45,  Modern  editions) 

I  hold  my  dutie,  as  I  hold  my  Soule, 
Both  to  my  God,  one  to  my  gracious  king. 

(Folios) 

THE  one  of  this  last  line,  because  it  has  proved 
impossible  to  construe  it  into  any  evident  sense, 
has  long  been  considered  an  error.  Modern 
editions  have  substituted  and  for  the  original 
one  of  the  Folios.  Furness,  acceding  to  the 
general  opinion  that  one  was  an  error  of  the 
early  printers,  makes  the  following  comment 
in  his  Variorum'. 

"Dyce  (Strictures,  etc.,  187)  truly  says  that 
the  attempts  to  explain  the  error,  one,  of  the 
Ff  have  proved  unsuccessful." 

If  we  will  only  have  regard  for  what  Polonius 
naturally  would  say,  both  in  respect  of  his 
character  and  the  common  sense  of  the  case, 
it  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  Shakespeare  wrote 
the  word  one  in  this  place.  Polonius,  with 
his  usual  way  of  making  fine  distinctions,  comes 
before  the  king  and  says :  -  "I  hold  my  duty  as 
I  hold  my  soul;  both  to  my  God,  one  to  my 
gracious  king."  In  other  words,  Polonius 
holds  or  owes  both  his  soul  and  his  duty  to  his 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      21 

God,  whereas  he  holds  but  one  of  them,  his 
duty,  to  his  king.  For  it  would  be  manifestly 
absurd  to  tell  a  king  that  you  owe  your  soul  to 
him  in  the  same  sense  that  you  owe  it  to  the 
Creator.  The  king  would  not  be  very  strongly 
convinced  of  your  sincerity.  The  flattery 
would  be  too  rank.  Therefore  Polonius'  one, 
which  makes  this  exception,  would  seem  to  be 
dictated  by  mere  common  sense. 

Polonius,  who  is  not  entirely  a  fool  and  is 
not  intended  as  such,  has  assiduously  built  up 
for  himself  a  character  of  wisdom,  of  weighty 
mentality  and  acute  and  subtle  insight,  and  he 
has  attained  to  a  court  office  in  that  capacity. 
He  is  a  diplomat,  the  king's  professional  ad- 
viser. As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  the  every- 
day run  of  affairs  at  court  does  not  make  very 
frequent  call  for  his  profound  services;  there  is 
not  enough  occasion  to  keep  his  reputation 
with  the  king  always  to  the  fore.  Therefore 
he  is  always  watching  for  the  smallest  oppor- 
tunity to  make  an  impression.  His  whole 
standing  in  life  depends  upon  his  keeping  up 
the  idea  that  his  great  insight  makes  him  in- 
dispensable, and  in  lack  of  anything  else  to 
work  upon,  he  seizes  upon  the  merest  trifles 
and  handles  them  after  the  manner  of  the 
weightiest  affairs.  This  habit  has  so  grown 
upon  him  that  in  his  old  age  it  makes  him  a 
somewhat  ridiculous  figure  —  Shakespeare  uses 
him  in  that  capacity.  Usually,  as  in  the  pres- 
ent case,  his  duties  make  of  him  little  more 


22      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

than  a  sort  of  sublimated  office  boy  carrying 
a  message,  and  when  he  expands  such  service 
into  the  most  sapient  achievement  and  works 
in  at  the  same  time  the  highest  declarations  of 
loyalty,  it  makes  him  laughable  and  frequently 
such  a  bore  that  the  queen  has  to  remind  him 
to  tell,  in  direct  plain  language,  what  it  is  that 
he  wishes  to  say.  He  is  a  travesty  on  the 
diplomatic  cast  of  mind  with  its  profundity, 
insincerity  and  wire-drawn  distinctions.  Po- 
lonius' anxiety  to  make  an  impression  is  a  point 
of  character  which  Shakespeare  is  always  keep- 
ing before  us.  With  regard  to  this  line,  there- 
fore, that  rendition  must  be  correct  which 
carries  this  point  in  the  depiction  of  character. 
If  we  change  it  so  that  it  loses  its  exceedingly 
logical,  closely  reasoned  point  and  its  involute 
construction,  we  have  lost  what  Shakespeare 
wrote.  Besides  which  there  is  the  apposition 
between  one  and  both,  a  method  that  is  char- 
acteristic of  Shakespeare's  work  throughout. 
The  amended  text  loses  all  this.  In  short  it  is 
one  which  makes  good  sense  while  and  does 
not.  Substitute  the  latter  and  look  at  the 
statement  closely.  Besides  being  too  tame 
and  flat  for  Polonius,  the  whole  statement  be- 
comes loose  and  uncertain. 

But  there  is  a  more  important  point.  The 
passage  as  a  whole  is  a  study  in  the  art  of 
flattery.  Shakespeare  has  kept  in  mind  cer- 
tain subtle  truths  regarding  human  nature,  and 
by  choosing  Polonius  to  put  them  in  practice 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      23 

he  has  kept  the  wily  and  doddering  old  diplomat 
delightfully  in  character.  There  are  certain 
fundamental  facts  in  human  nature  which  I 
would  advise  anyone  to  study  who  wishes  to 
become  an  adept  in  the  art  of  flattery. 

First.  If  you  wish  to  flatter  anyone  in 
reality,  you  must  seem  to  be  telling  the  truth; 
and  no  form  of  truth-telling  is  so  convincing 
as  that  of  making  reservations.  Nothing  gives 
the  appearance  of  honest  truth-telling  so  much 
as  the  taking  of  a  statement  that,  upon  second 
thought,  you  find  too  large  for  exact  verity  and 
then  trimming  it  down  conscientiously  to  the 
size  of  the  truth  itself.  For  there  truth-telling 
is  a  complicate  matter  which  goes  on  in  the 
open;  the  conscientiousness  is  evident.  And 
if  the  reservations  would  seem,  from  the  teller's 
private  point  of  view,  to  detract,  candidly,  from 
the  importance  of  the  other  person,  the  state- 
ment becomes  all  the  more  effective  as  flattery, 
for  he  must  indeed  be  an  honest  soul  who  would 
go  so  far  as  openly  to  take  away  anything  from 
his  meed  of  praise.  It  is  important  however 
that  this  seeming  detraction  should  not,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  be  any  detraction  at  all.  Po- 
lonius,  by  his  way  of  putting  it,  very  con- 
scientiously denies  the  king  a  certain  power  of 
possession  over  him.  He  does  not  owe  his 
soul  to  him.  That  he  owes  to  his  God.  It 
would  seem,  to  the  person  addressed,  that 
anything  so  conscientious,  even  at  the  risk  of 
coming  close  to  detraction,  could  not  be  in- 


24      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

spired  by  any  mere  motives  of  flattery.  Po- 
lonius  has  thought  aloud,  as  it  were,  and  his 
honest  mind  has  produced  this  reservation. 
And  yet  the  reservation  is,  in  fact,  no  detrac- 
tion at  all,  for  what  King  could  possibly  object 
to  a  man's  owing  his  soul  to  his  God  ? 

Second.  The  mood  of  abstract,  or  im- 
personal, thought,  is  the  best  soil  out  of  which 
flattery  can  spring.  For  abstract  impersonal 
thought  is  wholly  engaged  upon  a  question  — 
something  entirely  aside  from  the  mere  person 
of  the  party  under  consideration.  Flattery 
would  therefore  seem  to  be  far  from  the  par- 
ticular state  of  mind.  A  fine  distinction  serves 
the  purpose,  for  it  is  the  very  nature  of  con- 
scientious thought  to  observe  distinctions  and 
differences.  It  is  by  making  mental  correc- 
tions and  verbal  qualifications  that  truth  is 
arrived  at.  And  so,  when  we  have  a  character 
like  Polonius,  we  may  expect  to  see  flattery 
swim  in  her  own  native  element.  What  he  has 
to  say  is  really  very  simple  —  He  owes  his  duty 
to  his  king  as  he  owes  his  soul  to  God.  He 
starts  out  in  a  way  that  would  seem  quite 
spontaneous  and  natural  —  I  owe  my  duty  as 
I  owe  my  soul;  and  right  there  he  sees  the  force 
of  having  a  mental  qualm  and  making,  for  the 
king's  edification,  a  most  conscientious  dis- 
tinction. His  abstract  and  well-pondered  rev- 
ery  has  been  given,  also,  a  very  religious  turn  — 
not  a  small  point  in  impressing  the  king  with 
his  incorruptible  veracity. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      25 

When  Ophelia,  even  in  her  insanity,  says 
"You  must  wear  your  rue  with  a  difference," 
she  is  a  true  daughter  of  the  Polonius  family  — 
always  observing  differences  and  making  fine 
distinctions. 

Hudson,  in  adopting  the  reading  and,  ex- 
plains his  understanding  of  it  by  a  paraphrase 
—  "I  hold  my  duty  both  to  my  God  and  to 
my  king  as  I  do  my  soul."  After  reading  this 
explanation  one  would  be  justified  in  inquiring, 
Holds  his  soul  to  whom?  It  is  difficult  to  make 
consistent  sense  out  of  and;  and  the  more  one 
contemplates  it  as  the  substance  of  a  Shake- 
spearean remark  the  more  hopeless  it  appears. 
The  First  Folio,  besides  offering  the  proper 
sense,  is  even  correctly  punctuated  to  enforce  it. 

In  1st  Henry  VI,  iii,  4,  12,  we  have :  First 
to  my  God  and  next  unto  your  Grace  —  an 
interesting  parallel. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  GOVERNMENT 

SCENE  I.     An  apartment  in  the  Duke's  palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords  and  Attendants 

Duke.     Escalus. 

Escal.     My  lord. 

.  Duke.     Of  government  the  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  to  affect  speech  and  discourse; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know  that  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you:   then  no  more  remains, 

But  that  to  your  sufficiency 

as  your  worth  is  able, 

And  let  them  work.     The  nature  of  our  people, 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  you're  as  pregnant  in 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember.     There  is  our  commission, 
From  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp. 

(Measure  for  Measure,  i,  I,  8,  Modern  editions) 

Then  no  more  remains 

But  that,  to  your  sufficiency,  as  your  worth  is  able 
And  let  them  work. 

(First  Folio,  1623) 

THE  vacancy  indicated  by  the  row  of  dots 
does  not  occur  in  the  original  editions  of  Shake- 
speare. The  passage  is  thus  printed  by  modern 
editors  upon  the  theory  that  part  of  the  text  is 
missing.  Many  attempts  have  been  made  to 
fill  out  the  supposed  lacuna  by  conjecture,  but 
as  none  have  proved  successful,  the  most 
approved  practice  is  to  indicate  a  loss  in  the 
text. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      2J 

As  this  hitch  in  the  lines  occurs  at  the  very 
opening  of  the  play,  it  has  been  the  cause  of 
much  perplexity.  Henry  Irving  said:  "This 
clause  in  the  Duke's  first  sentence  has  proved  a 
more  awkward  stumbling  block  to  commenta- 
tors than  almost  any  passage  in  Shakespeare." 
It  is  one  of  the  four  passages  in  all  the  plays 
which  Neilson  particularly  notes  as  "  hope- 
lessly corrupt."  The  Globe  editors  have 
marked  it  with  the  obolus  according  to  their 
explanation  in  the  preface:  " Whenever  a 
lacuna  occurs  too  great  to  be  filled  out  with  any 
approach  to  certainty  by  conjecture,  we  have 
marked  the  passage  with  an  obolus  (f) ". 

What  we  need  here  is  some  thought  upon 
the  play  as  a  whole.  " Measure  for  Measure" 
is  a  play  which  deals  with  the  nature  of  govern- 
ment. Being  a  product  of  Shakespeare's  riper 
years,  it  has  behind  it  much  deep  and  thor- 
oughgoing thought  upon  the  problems  which 
confront  society  as  a  whole.  In  the  outcome 
Shakespeare  emphasizes  the  fact  that  though  a 
government  may  have  any  number  of  laws, 
true  justice  and  the  public  welfare  are,  after 
all,  dependent  upon  the  character  and  insight 
of  those  who  hold  the  reins  of  authority. 

In  a  good  public  officer  three  things  are  nec- 
essary —  power,  intellect  and  character.  A 
man  may  have  great  intellectual  ability  but  it 
will  avail  him  little  in  a  public  position  if  he 
have  not  the  authority  or  power  to  put  his  ideas 
into  practice.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man  may 


28       SOME    TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

be  in  a  position  of  absolute  authority  and  have 
any  amount  of  brains,  and  yet  his  influence 
for  good  will  still  be  dependent  upon  his  moral 
character  —  his  personal  nature  or  " worth"  as 
Shakespeare  calls  it;  for  it  is  this  quality  which 
is  needed  to  temper  his  administration  with 
high  beneficent  aims  and  a  deep  sympathetic 
insight  of  human  weaknesses  and  needs.  This 
inner  personal  government,  which  is  as  strict 
with  itself  as  it  is  with  others,  and  which  looks 
its  own  shortcomings  in  the  face,  is  necessary 
to  guide  the  intellect  and  make  the  authority 
of  good  effect. 

As  I  wish  to  offer  this  to  the  reader  as  a 
recognized  truth,  and  not  a  mere  interpreta- 
tion of  Shakespeare  upon  my  part,  let  us  take 
our  information  upon  government  from  a 
great  political  economist  of  today.  Nearest  at 
hand,  as  I  write,  I  find  Outlines  of  Economics 
(1893)  by  Richard  T.  Ely  of  the  University  of 
Wisconsin.  On  page  293  he  lays  down  broadly 
"The  Nature  and  State  of  Public  Activity." 
After  remarking  that  something  more  is  needed 
than  mere  selfish  interest  to  make  a  successful 
government,  he  lays  down  the  following  axiom 
(the  italics  being  his  own) : 

"We  must  add  the  social  nature,  teaching 
men  to  act  in  concert;  the  intellectual  nature, 
teaching  them  to  act  consciously;  the  moral 
nature,  teaching  them  to  act  rightly." 

When  we  remember  that  people  act  in  con- 
cert in  order  to  have  power,  it  will  be  seen  that 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE       29 

this  all  corresponds  to  the  three  requirements 
which  I  have  mentioned.  In  a  democracy,  the 
people  must  have  these  qualities  in  order  to 
choose  officers  rightly;  in  a  monarchy,  such  as 
Shakespeare  is  considering,  these  must  be  the 
qualities  of  the  ruler  himself  if  government  is  to 
prosper  —  power,  intellect  and  character. 

Now  if  Shakespeare  is  writing  a  drama  which 
deals  with  the  problems  of  government,  and  if 
he  has  given  deep  and  able  consideration  to 
his  theme,  we  may  expect  him  to  keep  strictly 
in  view  this  fundamental  truth.  Let  us  see 
whether  he  does. 

The  first  scene  opens  with  the  venerable 
Escalus  stepping  upon  the  stage  and  the  Duke 
coming  in  to  confer  with  him.  As  the  Duke 
steps  into  view  we  see  that  he  bears  in  his 
hand  two  rolls  of  parchment  —  " commissions" 
(see  lines  14  and  48).  These  important-looking 
documents  are  intended  to  catch  the  eye  and 
arouse  our  curiosity  at  once:  They  represent 
the  power  which  the  Duke  is  going  to  confer 
upon  Escalus  and  Angelo,  each  in  his  respec- 
tive station;  and  the  conferring  of  this  power  is 
the  particular  business  of  the  opening  scene. 
The  Duke  in  a  few  words  makes  it  clear  that 
Escalus  is  a  man  of  great  experience  and 
ability,  his  " science"  of  government  being  so 
great  that  the  Duke  considers  advice  un- 
necessary. Escalus'  mental  equipment,  as  thus 
described,  is  shown  to  be  sufficient.  But  how 
about  the  other  qualifications?  The  Duke  is 


30      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

about  to  confer  the  power.  He  selects  one  of 
the  commissions  by  which  authority  is  to  be 
conferred  and  bringing  it  more  prominently 
into  view  he  says  to  Escalus : 

"Put  that  (the  power),  to  your  sufficiency 
(your  experience  and  mental  ability)  as  your 
worth  (your  character  or  moral  nature)  is  able, 
And  let  them  work." 

Shakespeare  here  speaks  plainly  of  the  three 
things  which  always  have  determined,  and 
always  must  determine,  the  true  success  of  a 
public  officer.  And  this  trinity  of  qualifica- 
tions we  now  have  split  up  and  separated  by  a 
row  of  dots  upon  the  supposition  that  part  of 
the  text  is  missing  and  that  something  comes 
between!  This  could  only  be  because  editors 
and  commentators  have  failed  to  see,  in  these 
opening  lines,  Shakespeare's  prompt  announce- 
ment of  the  theme  of  the  play  as  a  whole.  Noth- 
ing has  been  lost  out  of  this  line.  Nothing 
could  be  added  without  spoiling  it.  It  is  the 
exact  truth  of  government.  To  split  it  up 
with  rows  of  dots  puts  an  understanding 
reader  entirely  astray. 

It  will  be  observed  that  I  have  emended 
the  first  word  by  changing  the  B  to  P.  It  is 
very  easy  for  a  typesetter,  in  distributing  type, 
to  throw  a  b  into  the  p  box;  and  such  a  mis- 
chance would  result  in  an  error  like  this.  In 
any  modern  edition,  the  original  text,  which 
was  very  faulty  in  type-setting,  has  been 
corrected  in  more  than  ten  thousand  places.  I 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      31 

think  that  when  we  view  this  line  in  the  light 
of  what  it  is  saying,  the  present  emendation 
will  be  found  as  authoritative  as  any  of  them. 

In  fact  this  very  mischance  (the  throwing  of 
a  p  into  the  b  box)  has  been  known  to  change 
the  text  of  Shakespeare  in  comparatively 
recent  times.  For  generations,  up  to  the  time 
of  Knight,  a  certain  line  in  "Troilus  and 
Cressida"  was  printed,  "thou  art  here  put  to 
thrash  Trojans"  (ii,  2,  50).  This  however  was 
incorrect,  for  the  First  Folio  had  it,  "thou  art 
here  but  to  thrash  Trojans."  For  years, 
through  edition  after  edition,  the  alteration  in 
the  text  was  not  noticed.  This  is  a  thing 
which  frequently  happens  in  typesetting;  and 
it  probably  accounts  for  the  "But"  in  the  place 
where,  as  I  believe,  Shakespeare  wrote  Put. 

This  emendation,  which  I  merely  suggest, 
may  be  adopted  and  it  may  not;  it  is  not  the 
important  point.  The  point  is  that  we  should 
understand  what  is  being  said  here  and  grasp 
it  in  its  larger  aspect  as  related  to  the  play  as  a 
whole.  If  we  do  this  we  cannot  allow  this  line 
to  be  disrupted  by  a  row  of  dots  upon  the 
supposition  that  it  is  the  meaningless  remainder 
of  a  lost  passage. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  sense  in 
which  each  word  is  intended  to  be  taken. 
The  meaning  which  we  are  to  gather  from 
Escalus'  "sufficiency"  is  carefully  tended  to  in 
the  two  preceding  lines.  It  consists  of  Escalus' 
profound  "science"  of  government,  his  mental 


32      SOME    TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN    SHAKESPEARE 

equipment;  and  the  word  "sufficiency"  refers 
back  to  that  meaning.  Power  is  being  con- 
ferred upon  him  by  the  commission  or  parch- 
ment; and  his  "worth,"  by  being  mentioned  as 
distinct  from  his  intellectual  equipment  and 
his  authority,  can  only  mean  his  moral  nature 
or  character.  The  significance  of  the  words, 
besides  carrying  their  meanings  in  themselves, 
is  made  very  exact  by  their  apposition;  and  it 
will  be  noted  that  the  greatest  weight  is  put 
upon  the  moral  qualification  by  the  word 
chosen  to  express  it  —  "worth."  "Sufficiency" 
is  merely  that  which  suffices;  it  is  enough  in 
its  kind.  This  is  the  word  chosen  to  express 
Escalus'  great  intellectual  attainments.  Now 
this  serves  to  throw  our  principal  attention 
upon  what  is  called  his  worth  —  a  much  larger 
thing. 

The  passage  as  a  whole  makes  temporal 
power  and  intellectual  power  wholly  dependent 
upon  a  man's  moral  nature,  or  intrinsic  worth, 
for  good  results.  Now  this  is  just  what  the 
play  shows  us  in  the  end.  Angelo  failed,  with 
Escalus  as  chief  adviser,  not  because  he  was 
not  a  good  reasoner,  or  inexperienced,  or  be- 
cause he  lacked  power,  but  because  his  moral 
nature  was  at  fault. 

As  to  the  acting  of  this  opening  scene.  In 
the  opening  scene  of  a  play,  where  the  action 
may  not  rise  to  any  great  height  because  there 
cannot  be  the  accumulated  interest  to  build  up 
a  tense  situation,  a  dramatist  has  to  use  great 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      33 

art  to  arouse  interest  at  once.  There  is  need 
of  clever  "stage  business"  to  catch  the  attention 
and  start  something  of  interest  at  once.  Shake- 
speare makes  subtle  use  of  these  official-looking 
parchments  —  documents  no  doubt  be-sealed 
and  beribboned  to  make  them  seem  important. 
They  enchain  the  attention  at  once.  We  find 
that  he  soon  reveals  the  nature  of  one  of  them, 
not  in  mere  statement  but  dramatically: 

Put  that  to  your  sufficiency,  as  your  worth  is  able, 
And  let  them  work. 

He  does  not  hand  it  over  and  designate  it  as 
a  "commission"  till  four  lines  later,  meantime 
he  holds  it  before  him  and  indicates  it  thus  as 
being  important.  The  Duke  still  has  one  left, 
and  Angelo  is  now  called  in. 

Theobald  (1733)  emended  the  passage  — 

then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiency  (you  add 
Due  diligency)  as  your  worth  is  able 
And  let  them  work. 

As  if  such  details  as  "due  diligency"  were  not 
included  in  the  larger  meaning  of  the  line! 
Such  emendation  is  not  warranted;  but  Theo- 
bald's fame  is  still  of  such  power  that  this 
emendation  is  still  used  in  widely-read  editions. 


THE  KING  AND  THE  BODY 

Hamlet.     The  body  is  with  the  king,  but  the  king  is 
not  with  the  body.     The  king  is  a  thing  — 

(Hamlet,  iv,  2,  29) 

I  CAN  best  convey  the  meaning  of  these  words 
by  a  series  of  mental  steps.  The  sentence  is 
very  delusive;  it  was  intended  to  be  so  by 
Shakespeare.  As  Rosencrantz  was  supposed  to 
see  nothing  but  pure  nonsense  in  such  a  state- 
ment, being  too  shallow  to  understand  Hamlet, 
it  was  necessary  for  Shakespeare  to  put  the 
sentence  in  such  a  form  that  it  would  appear 
the  same  to  us,  at  first  blush;  thus  we  should 
see  how  perfectly  insane  it  seemed  to  the  two 
king's-messengers.  At  the  same  time  its  mean- 
ing is  perfectly  open,  and  was  intended  to  be 
open  by  Shakespeare,  to  those  who  had  the 
feeling  and  insight  to  understand  Hamlet. 
Let  the  reader  exercise  a  little  patience,  there- 
fore, if  at  first  he  does  not  catch  it.  Afterwards 
I  shall  explain  what  relation  it  bears  to  the 
play  as  a  whole. 

The  idea  that  Hamlet  is  here  expressing  is  as 
follows : 

To  a  dead  man,  a  king  does  not  exist.  The 
king  has  no  being,  is  nothing,  to  a  dead  man, 
because  the  dead  man  is  not  conscious  of  him. 
But  to  a  live  king,  a  dead  man  does  exist. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      35 

Which  is  to  say: 

To  a  dead  man,  a  king  is  not.  But  to  a  live 
king  a  dead  man  is. 

Or,  in  other  words : 

With  the  king,  a  body  is.  But  with  the 
body  a  king  is  not. 

Or,  to  use  Hamlet's  exact  words : 

The  body  is,  with  the  king.  But  the  king 
is  not,  with  the  body. 

It  is  all  a  matter  of  being,  this  question  of  is. 
And  consciousness  is  what  being  consists  of, 
or  life. 

The  reader  will  at  once  be  reminded  of  the 
soliloquy:  —  "To  be  or  not  to  be."  It  is  all  of 
a  piece  with  this,  even  as  the  play  in  its  deeper 
aspects,  is  all  of  a  piece.  Let  us  turn  now  to 
the  soliloquy. 

The  whole  soliloquy,  "To  be  or  not  to  be," 
is  engaged  solely  with  the  subject  of  forgetting. 
That  is  to  say,  not  with  mere  death,  as  ordi- 
narily understood,  but  with  oblivion.  Hamlet's 
one  great  desire  was  to  forget.  The  only  way 
to  forget  is  to  die.  Hence  his  contemplation  of 
suicide. 

There  is  but  one  thing  that  stays  his  hand 
from  self-destruction.  It  is  the  question  as  to 
whether,  after  death,  there  may  still  be  con- 
sciousness. And  therefore  memory  of  things 
in  this  life.  For  if  he  must  remember  in  the 
future  life,  his  heart  must  still  ache;  and  in  that 
case  there  is  no  escape  in  that  direction,  no 
inducement  in  dying.  It  was  not  merely  his 


36      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

life  that  Hamlet  would  wish  to  destroy,  but 
his  being. 

To  die;   to  sleep;  — 
To  sleep?     Perchance  to  dream!    Ay,  there's  the  rub. 

There  indeed  was  the  rub  to  a  man  with  his 
reasons  for  dying.  His  impelling  reason  for 
wanting  to  die  is  stated  at  once,  first  and  fore- 
most. It  is  "the  heartache  and  the  thousand 
and  one  natural  shocks  that  flesh  is  heir  to." 
By  "natural  shocks"  he  means  the  shocks  to 
his  very  nature  —  his  heart  and  affections  and 
ideals.  He  had  had  a  terrible  insight  of  the 
possibilities  of  human  nature.  Life  had  touched 
him  to  the  quick  on  all  four  sides  —  through 
father,  mother,  sweetheart  and  friends.  He 
had  a  father  whose  own  brother  had  murdered 
him,  a  mother  guilty  of  incest,  a  sweetheart 
who  proved  shallow  and  conventional  in  her 
love,  boyhood  friends  equally  vain  and  shallow 
who  would  spy  upon  him  through  selfish 
motives.  All  this  came  upon  him  suddenly; 
and  being  a  man  of  high  mental  power  it  gave 
him  a  terrible  insight  of  the  world  as  it  is.  So 
long  as  he  could  remember  these  things  and 
these  people,  his  heart  must  ache.  The  only 
remedy  is  oblivion. 

In  mere  "action"  there  is  no  remedy  for 
such  things.  They  are  simple  facts;  and  of 
such  facts  his  life  must  consist,  no  matter  what 
he  does  or  how  successful  he  might  be.  It  is 
often  wondered  why  he  did  not  kill  the  king, 
console  himself  with  "revenge"  and  then  aspire 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      37 

to  his  father's  throne.  And  then  what,  let  us 
ask.  To  be  a  king  and  live  a  life  of  such  mem- 
ories! Such  insights! 

When  there  is  no  remedy  for  a  state  of  affairs, 
what  can  a  man  ask  but  to  forget  it  all? 

We  cannot  too  tacitly  fix  upon  our  minds 
that  in  this  part  of  the  soliloquy  Hamlet  is 
wholly  concerned,  not  with  any  dread  of  dying, 
but  with  the  question  as  to  whether  memory 
persists  after  death.  This  is  important  to  our 
understanding  of  the  play  inasmuch  as  it  af- 
fects his  course  of  action  and  shows  his  trend 
of  thought. 

It  is  next  important  for  us  to  gather  the  exact 
meaning  of  those  lines :  — 


Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing  end  them. 


There  is  here  no  thought  or  intention  of 
setting  to  work  to  straighten  out  mere  affairs 
at  court.  A  man  cannot  take  a  dagger  to  the 
shallowness  of  mother,  sweetheart  and  friend; 
he  cannot  kill  the  crime  of  his  father's  brother 
by  simply  killing  the  man.  The  memory  and 
the  facts  are  left;  and  life  to  him  must  consist 
of  that  painful  insight  and  knowledge  of  the 
world.  Shakespeare  here  speaks  of  ending 
troubles  immediately  and  at  once  by  merely 
taking  arms  against  them.  This  means  simply 


38      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

the  taking  of  arms  against  self — suicide;  for 
not  by  any  such  opposition  to  others  could  his 
troubles  be  conquered.  But  by  death,  if  it 
brings  oblivion,  the  dagger  can  conquer  all.  It 
might  be  ea^sy  enough  to  kill  a  king.  But  the 
only  way  to  really  wipe  a  man  out  of  existence 
is  to  kill  yourself. 

In  this  soliloquy,  there  is  not  the  least  hesita- 
tion over  the  fact  that  self-destruction  may  be 
against  the  law  of  heaven.  It  was  in  the  earlier 
soliloquy  that  he  gave  thought  to  such  matters 
—  before  the  whole  state  of  affairs  had  been 
revealed  to  him.  Here  there  is  nothing  of  that. 
He  is  wholly  concerned  with  the  hope  that 
death  may  end  all.  Shakespeare  has  eliminated 
everything  to  bring  forth  in  all  its  depths  this 
one  desire.  And  so  the  prime  concern  of  this 
soliloquy  is  that  of  forgetting. 

With  this  too  short  view  of  the  soliloquy,  we 
are  in  a  position  to  return  with  a  new  eye  to 
the  "crux"  with  which  we  began.  The  ac- 
cepted view  with  all  modern  authorities  is  that 
these  words  are  "intended  as  nonsense";  or, 
as  the  Globe  editors  say,  "Hamlet  is  talking 
nonsense  designedly."  But  let  us  look  at  the 
facts. 

Hamlet  inadvertently,  and  not  caring  much 
what  he  did,  had  killed  Polonius  and  hid  the 
body  under  the  stairs.  In  this  juncture  the 
messenger  comes  to  him  from  the  king  and  says, 
"You  must  tell  us  where  the  body  is,  and  go  with 
us  to  the  king."  Immediately  there  arose  in 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      39 

Hamlet's  mind,  in  logical  connection,  the 
image  of  a  king  and  a  dead  body,  and  with  it 
the  one  idea  that  concerned  him  personally. 
In  his  life  he  had  two  courses  open  to  him. 
One  was  to  occupy  his  time  with  overcoming 
the  usurper  and  trying  to  place  himself  on  his 
father's  throne;  the  other  was  to  turn  the 
dagger  against  himself  and  get  relief  from  that 
heartache  which,  in  any  case,  would  be  his  for 
life.  Situated  as  he  was,  he  might  become 
either  a  king  or  a  dead  body.  They  were  the 
only  two  logical  courses  open  to  him.  In  the 
present  juncture  of  his  life  there  was  suddenly 
and  vividly  presented  to  his  contemplation  a 
dead  body  on  the  one  hand  and  a  king  on  the 
other;  and  the  messenger  had  said  "You  must 
tell  us  where  the  body  is."  This  matter  of  " is, " 
in  connection  with  a  dead  body,  raises  up  to 
contemplation  the  whole  mystery  of  being.  It 
is  the  old  question  of,  "to  be  or  not  to  be,"  and 
Hamlet's  mind,  with  the  concrete  presentment 
before  him,  returns  at  once  to  the  question  that 
most  deeply  concerns  him.  His  remark  upon 
the  subject  is  quite  natural.  To  the  king,  the 
body  is.  But  with  the  body  the  king  is  not. 
And  back  of  his  remark  was  the  thought  that  if 
he  were  a  dead  body,  nobody  would  be  now 
saying  to  him,  "Go  with  us  to  the  king."  The 
hypocritical  and  hollow  king,  the  corrupt  court 
and  the  whole  painful  state  of  affairs  would  be 
wiped  out  of  existence  so  far  as  he  is  concerned 
—  a  thing  much  to  be  desired.  It  seemed  so, 


40      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

for  the  moment;  and  he  said  what  he  thought. 
But  the  mystery  of  death  still  remained;  and  he 
had  probably  decided  that  "it  is  nobler  in  the 
mind"  to  suffer  and  try  to  do  something  than 
to  desert  the  field  of  action. 


THE  SUM 

Enter  a  Messenger 

Mess.     News,  my  good  lord,  from  Rome. 
Antony.  Grates  me:  the  sum. 

Cleo.     Nay,  hear  them,  Antony. 

(Antony  and  Cleopatra,  i,  I,  18) 

THE  generally  accepted  interpretation  of 
Antony's  "the  sum"  is  that  he  is  ordering  the 
messenger  to  sum  up  the  news  shortly.  Im- 
patient of  interruption  he  exclaims  that  it 
"grates"  upon  him  and  then  demands  the  news 
from  Rome  in  a  nutshell. 

This  is  a  misconception.  Antony's  words, 
"the  sum,"  are  in  answer  to  Cleopatra's  fore- 
going inquiry  as  to  "how  much"  he  loves  her. 
She  has  been  insisting  upon  an  answer  to  that 
question,  but  just  when  Antony  is  beginning 
to  expatiate  upon  that  pleasant  theme,  the 
messenger  arrives  and  interrupts  him.  Vexed 
at  this  untimely  obtrusion  he  waves  the  mes- 
senger aside  and  at  once  resumes  his  reply  to 

Cleopatra.  "The  sum ",  he  begins;  but 

before  he  can  tell  her  the  amount  of  his  love  he 
is  again  interrupted,  this  time  by  her.  The  line 
should  be  printed  with  a  dash  after  it  to  indicate 
that  he  has  begun  a  sentence  which  is  broken  off. 

At  first  blush  it  might  seem  that  the  usual 
interpretation  of  the  passage  is  as  good  as  the 


42      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

one  I  am  submitting.  We  must,  however, 
look  at  the  context.  If  Antony,  the  triple 
pillar  of  the  world,  commanded  a  man  to  sum 
up  his  message  quickly,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  he 
would  make  some  attempt  to  do  so.  But  the 
messenger  does  not  respond.  Then,  too,  if 
Antony  is  here  supposed  to  be  asking  for  the 
sum  of  the  news  he  must  have  some  intention 
of  listening.  But  Cleopatra  immediately  says, 
" Nay,  hear  them,  Antony."  He  not  only  shows 
no  indication  of  having  made  such  an  inquiry 
of  the  messenger,  but  he  continues  to  ignore  his 
presence  even  when  Cleopatra  tries  later  to  get 
him  to  give  audience.  Thus  the  accepted  un- 
derstanding of  the  line  produces  such  a  state 
of  affairs  that  in  order  to  assent  to  it  we  have 
to  have  no  regard  for  human  nature.  This  is 
un-Shakespearean. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Antony  is  replying  to 
the  question  "how  much,"  it  is  quite  natural 

for  him  to  begin,  "The  sum ".  As  soon  as 

he  began,  Cleopatra  saw  that  he  was  addressing 
her  and  not  the  messenger;  it  is  for  that  reason 
that  she  breaks  in,  "Nay,  hear  them,  Antony." 
And  the  messenger  says  nothing  because  he  saw 
that  he  simply  was  not  wanted. 

Difficulty  with  this  passage,  which  began 
with  the  earliest  editors,  has  resulted  in  con- 
tinual efforts  to  repunctuate  it;  but  always  with 
the  one  preconceived  meaning  in  view.  In 
addition  to  the  suggestions  I  have  made  I  would 
separate  the  two  halves  of  the  statement,  as  at 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      43 

present  printed,  with  a  period,  thus  showing 
their  complete  detachment  from  one  another, 
and  indicate  them  as  being  addressed  to  the 
Messenger  and  Cleopatra  respectively. 

The  opening  scene  of  this  play  is  all  bent  to 
the  purpose  of  impressing  upon  us  Antony's 
complete  infatuation  and  obsession  with  the 
charming  Egyptian.  Therefore,  at  the  very 
beginning,  we  see  him  ignoring  state  affairs 
entirely  —  not  partially  or  with  a  divided  mind. 
This  is  brought  out  most  strongly  in  the  line  we 
are  considering;  it  was  Shakespeare's  strongest 
point  in  calculating  the  opening.  We  should 
not,  therefore,  be  willing  to  consider  Antony  as 
consenting  to  pause  in  his  courtship  and  lend 
one  ear  to  the  news,  as  it  were,  providing  it 
was  summed  up  or  made  short. 


ROPES  IN  SUCH  A  SCAR 

Diana.     I  see  that  men  make  ropes  in  such  a  scar. 
That  we'll  forsake  ourselves.     Give  me  that  ring. 

(All's  Well,  iv,  2,  38,  Globe  ed.) 

THIS  is  one  of  the  four  passages  in  all  the 
plays  which  Neilson  especially  signalizes  as 
"hopelessly  corrupt." 

An  appalling  list  of  proposed  emendations, 
beginning  with^Rowe  in  1709,  shows  the  efforts 
of  successive  editors  and  critics  to  wring  a 
consistent  meaning  out  of  the  passage.  At 
present  the  attempts  seem  to  be  exhausted, 
and  hope  of  solving  the  meaning  has  been  finally 
given  up.  The  Globe  editors  mark  the  passage 
with  the  obolus  to  signify  its  hopelessness. 

I  have  already  explained,  in  my  elucidation 
of  "runaway's  eyes/'  that  a  girl  who  is  about 
to  give  up  that  condition  of  maidenhood  which 
has  been  her  very  state  of  existence  might 
naturally  feel  that  she  was  a  deserter.  Diana's 
way  of  expressing  it  is  that  she  is  about  to  for- 
sake herself.  For  as  she  is  a  maid,  and  this 
maidenhood  is  her  very  self,  to  voluntarily 
cease  to  be  one  is  to  forsake  the  Diana  that  she 
is.  The  Italian  Diana's  deeper  feelings  as  she 
decides  to  do  so  may  be  seen  through  the  eyes 
of  any  woman.  Woman  is  her  own  keeper; 
it  is  herself  that  she  has  been  trusted  with. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      45 

Chastity,  her  first  duty  and  ideal,  is  nothing 
less  than  a  Cause  to  which  she  is  sworn;  she 
must  not  desert  it  despite  the  world.  There- 
fore, that  which  a  maiden  is,  and  which  she 
has  always  persisted  in  being,  is  her  self  in  the 
truest  sense  of  the  word,  for  it  is  the  very  stuff 
of  her  conscious  existence.  It  is  what  she  is  in 
the  world.  And  so  Diana,  as  she  put  forth 
her  hand  to  accept  the  ring  from  such  a  man 
as  Bertram  (who  was  already  married  to 
another)  felt  that  she  was  truly  forsaking  her- 
self. She  would  no  more  be  the  girl  she  was. 

It  is  probably  unnecessary  to  dwell  further 
upon  this  point  of  view  —  Shakespeare's  ex- 
pression of  it  is  sufficient.  The  circumstances 
being  understood  and  the  meaning  of  this  word 
fixed,  it  now  devolves  upon  us  to  explain,  if 
possible,  the  figure  of  speech  by  which  Shake- 
speare wished  to  make  it  all  more  forceful  and 
vivid.  And  as  to  what  a  "scar"  is,  or  scaur 
(formerly  spelled  scarre)  there  ought  to  be  no 
great  doubt  about  that,  especially  in  the  light 
of  the  context. 

"Scar  —  A  bare  and  broken  place  on  the  side  of  a  mountain, 
or  in  the  high  bank  of  a  river;  a  precipitous  bank  of  earth." 
—  Webster's  Dictionary  (1890). 

We  are  all  supposed  to  understand  Tennyson 
easily  enough  when  he  writes: 

0,  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar, 
The  horns  of  elfland  faintly  blowing. 

In  Shakespeare's  day  we  find  it  spelled 
"scarre,"  and  so  his  conception  of  the  word 


46      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

was  no  doubt  related  to  the  French  escharre; 
and  this  means  "a  dry  slough"  or  ravinelike 
place  worn  out  by  the  action  of  water.  It 
only  remains,  then,  for  us  to  take  this  simply 
worded  passage  and  lend  our  imagination  to 
what  Shakespeare  is  saying.  A  figure  of 
speech,  we  sometimes  need  to  remind  our- 
selves, has  two  sides  to  it.  It  is  a  little  alle- 
gory, a  fable  in  a  word  or  two;  it  is  an  idea, 
a  feeling,  illustrated  by  a  mental  picture.  And 
in  Shakespeare's  mind  these  pictures  were 
always  vividly  conceived  and  exactly  fitted  to 
the  parallel  case. 

Let  us,  then,  imagine  the  coast  of  England. 
It  is  a  shore  faced  by  steep  cliffs  like  those  at 
Dover;  and  at  the  foot  of  these  walls  of  Eng- 
land is  the  long  smooth  strip  of  strand  —  "the 
unnumbered  sands"  of  the  shore.  A  distance 
from  shore,  anchored  in  the  offing,  is  a  ship; 
and  walking  along  the  shore  is  a  sailor,  now 
left  to  an  hour  of  liberty,  who  belongs  to  the 
ship.  On  the  face  of  the  cliff,  here  and  there, 
are  ropes  by  which  samphire  gatherers  go  up 
and  down.  Egg-gatherers  sometimes  come 
here,  too,  and  fishermen  and  beach-combers; 
and  the  way  from  the  long  stretch  of  beach 
where  "the  unnumbered,  idle  pebble  lies,"  up 
to  the  general  level  of  the  country  is  often  by 
means  of  ropes.  They  hang  down  in  plain 
sight  on  the  bald  face  of  the  cliff.  As  the 
sailor  wanders  along  he  comes  to  where  there 
is  a  scar  or  gully.  In  this  dry  gully,  secluded 


SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      47 

in  its  depths  and  quite  shut  off  from  view,  he 
comes  across  temptation  itself.  A  rope  shows 
him  the  way  to  desert  his  ship.  Here  is  a  se- 
cret place  where  he  will  be  unseen;  and  some 
man  has  prepared  the  rope  for  him.  In  the 
preparedness  of  the  thing  he  is  tempted,  forgets 
his  articles  to  the  ship  and  his  duties  of  sailor- 
hood,  and  deserts. 

The  only  difference  between  such  a  one  and 
Diana  is  that  she  is  forsaking  her  maidenhood, 
her  self  —  the  thing  that  she  is  vowed  to  as  a 
sailor  to  his  ship.  The  importunate  Bertram 
has  been  laboring  by  argument  to  overcome 
the  difficulties  of  her  own  mind;  he  has  been 
trying  to  assist  her  out  of  the  barriers  of  her 
character.  The  arguments  he  weaves  are  the 
"ropes."  Her  relations  with  Bertram  are 
secret;  she  is  to  deal  with  him  by  stealth. 
Secretly,  away  from  the  eyes  of  the  world,  she 
is  to  desert,  or  as  she  says,  to  "forsake"  her 
maidenhood.  In  this  pictorial  passage  the 
"scar"  implies  secrecy  —  a  scar  being  a  se- 
cluded place. 

Commentators  have  spent  their  utmost  learn- 
ing and  ingenuity  arguing  what  a  scar  might 
be  and  what  it  is  that  Diana  is  supposed  to 
forsake.  When  we  see  the  word  scar  in  con- 
nection with  a  rope  it  would  seem  that  there 
could  be  little  doubt  as  what  sort  of  a  scar  it 
was;  and  still  less  as  to  what  the  rope  was 
there  for. 

While    we    should    conceive    Shakespeare's 


48      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

figures  of  speech  as  pictorially  as  our  imagina- 
tion will  allow,  I  do  not  mean  to  insist  that 
the  reader  shall  confine  himself  to  the  exact 
details  I  have  used  to  bring  forth  the  meaning. 
Shakespeare  does  not  need  to  go  into  details; 
he  touches  off  the  imagination  with  the  few 
vital  words  which  will  enforce  the  idea  in  its 
principal  aspects.  We  should  at  least  catch 
the  spirit  of  the  comparison  and  remember 
that  woman  is  bound  and  circumscribed  by 
the  strongest  barriers  of  custom  and  education 
and  the  very  instincts  of  her  finer  nature  to 
regard  her  womanhood  as  a  trust,  a  thing  to 
which  she  is  bound  as  a  nun  to  her  convent  or 
a  sailor  to  his  ship.  I  have  said  that  the  scar, 
being  secluded,  implies  secrecy.  It  also  de- 
picts a  barrier,  a  place  to  be  gotten  out  of;  and 
Bertram,  by  his  fine-spun  arguments  and  logical 
ropes,  is  showing  her  the  way  out.  When  she 
says,  therefore, 

I  see  that  men  make  ropes  in  such  a  scar 
That  we'll  forsake  ourselves 

she  means  that  men  contrive  such  opportune 
and  secret  places,  and  offer  such  specious  argu- 
ments and  easy  ways  to  sin,  that  women  are 
tempted  to  overcome  the  barriers  of  their  na- 
ture and  forsake  their  womanhood.  The  figure 
of  speech  is  useful  because  it  says  so  much  in 
little.  It  has  never  been  explained  in  this  way 
before. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      49 

Commentators  generally  have  been  taken  up 
with  the  problem  as  to  what  it  is  that  is  being 
forsaken;  and  many  of  them  seem  to  think 
that  it  is  the  rope  or  the  gully  which  women 
themselves  forsake;  though  what  these  things 
stand  for  is  not  explained.  Others  think  it 
ought  to  read  "in  such  a  scare"  and  ascribe 
the  present  reading  to  a  mistake  upon  the  part 
of  the  printers  of  the  Folio.  As  the  Folio, 
which  is  full  of  error  in  punctuation,  prints  the 
word  ropes  as  follows — "rope's — many  critics 
think  that  this  stands  for  "rope  us."  The 
present-day  state  of  affairs  is  shown  in  the  note 
of  Gollancz  summing  up  the  most  plausible 
theories : 

"This  is  one  of  the  standing  cruxes  in  the 
text  of  Shakespeare;  some  thirty  emendations 
have  been  proposed  for  *  ropes'  and  'scarre'.  .  . 
The  apostrophe  in  the  First  and  Second  Folios 
makes  it  almost  certain  that  9s  stands  for  us. 
Possibly  'make1  is  used  as  an  auxiliary;  'make 
rope's9  would  then  mean  'do  constrain,  or  en- 
snare us.'  Or  is  'make  rope9  a  compound 
verb  ?  '  Scarre '  may  mean  ' scare '  (i.e.  '  fright ') . 
The  general  sense  seems  to  be  'I  see  that  man 
may  reduce  us  to  such  a  fright  that  we'll  forsake 
ourselves."1 

Inasmuch  as  Bertram  was  the  opposite  of 
threatening,  and  used  only  the  softest  blandish- 
ment and  persuasion,  Gollancz's  conclusion 
after  considering  all  the  attempts  does  not  seem 
very  fit  to  the  actual  case.  It  is  difficult  to  see 


50      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

what  Shakespeare  would  mean  by  writing  "men 
make-rope  us  in  such  a  scarre." 

There  has  been  much  clinging  to  the  apos- 
trophe in  the  word  rope's  because  it  is  thus 
found  in  the  First  and  Second  Folios;  but  this 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  no  possible  solution  pre- 
sented itself  and  this  seemed  to  offer  a  different 
way  out,  whatever  it  might  signify.  However 
we  must  remember  that  the  Second  Folio  had 
no  independent  source;  it  was  copied  from  the 
First  Folio;  and  the  First  Folio  has  thousands 
of  errors  in  punctuation  which  have  been  cor- 
rected without  question.  The  fact  that  a  mis- 
take has  been  copied  does  not  lend  it  any 
authority,  though  many  editors  have  seemed 
to  reason  that  it  does.  The  editor  of  the  Sec- 
ond Folio  was  human;  and,  as  he  probably 
did  not  understand  the  line  himself,  he  simply 
put  down  what  he  found  in  the  First  Folio. 

Following  is  a  list  of  emendations,  beginning 
with  Rowe  (1709): 

ROWE  —  make  hopes  in  such  affairs. 

MALONE —  make  hopes  in  such  a  scene. 

BECKET —  make  mopes  in  such  a  scar,  or  make  japes  of  such 
a  scathe. 

HENLEY —  make  hopes  in  such  a  scare. 

SINGER —  make  hopes  in  such  a  war. 

MITFORD  —  make  hopes  in  such  a  cause. 

COLLIER — make  slopes  in  such  a  scarre,  or  make  ropes  in 
such  a  stairs. 

DYCE  —  make  hopes  in  such  a  case. 

STAUNTON —  make  hopes  in  such  a  snare. 

COLLIER  MSS.  —  make  hopes  in  such  a  suit. 

WILLIAMS  —  may  cope's  in  such  a  sort. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      51 

BUSIER —  make  ropes  in  such  a  snare,  or  wake  hopes  in  such 
a  scare. 

ADDIS  —  may  drop's  in  such  a  scarre. 

FLEAY —  make  rapes  in  such  a  scare. 

HERR — make  oaths  in  such  a  siege,  or  make  loves  in  such  a 
service. 

LETTSOM  —  make  ropes  in  such  a  scape. 

BULLOCH  —  may  crop's  in  such  a  scar. 

DEIGHTON  —  may  rope's  in  such  a  snarle. 

DANIEL —  may  rope's  in  such  a  snare. 

TYLER —  make  ropes  in  such  a  scaine. 

KEIGHTLY  —  make  ropes  of  oaths  and  vows  to  scale  our  fort 
in  hope. 


ARMADO  0'  THE  ONE  SIDE 

Armado  o'  the  one  side,  —  O  a  most  dainty  man! 

To  see  him  walk  before  a  lady  and  to  bear  her  fan! 

To  see  him  kiss  his  hand!  and  how  most  sweetly  a'  will  swear! 

And  his  page  o'  t'  other  side,  that  handful  of  wit! 

Ah,  heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit! 

Sola,  sola! 

(Love's  Labour's  Lost,  iv,  I,  146) 

THIS  passage,  in  its  entirety,  has  been  very 
embarrassing  to  editors  because  it  seems  to 
have  no  connection  with  the  scene  in  which  it 
stands  and  of  which  it  forms  the  conclusion. 
As  it  appears  to  be  so  irrelevant  and  foreign  to 
the  context,  some  editors,  as  Staunton,  Halli- 
well  and  Rolfe,  lift  it  from  its  present  position 
and  find  a  place  for  it  in  the  preceding  scene  at 
line  136.  But  others,  not  finding  that  it  fits 
here  with  any  convincing  aptness,  prefer  to  let 
it  remain  where  it  is  according  to  the  original 
sources  of  the  play.  Armado  and  the  Page, 
whom  the  clown  seems  to  be  characterizing, 
do  not  appear  in  the  scene  at  all;  hence  there 
has  been  difficulty  in  determining  upon  what 
grounds  the  mind  should  take  such  a  sudden 
jump. 

The  trouble  lies  in  the  interpretation  —  not 
merely  of  words  and  phrases  but  of  the  working 
of  the  clown's  mind.  Costard  is  not  talking 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE        53 

about  Armado  and  the  Page  primarily;  he  is 
soliloquizing  about  the  nobleman  Boyet  who  has 
just  left.  In  order  to  appreciate  Shakespeare's 
work  in  this  place,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  call 
to  mind  the  leading  traits  of  certain  characters 
in  the  play. 

The  page,  Moth,  stands  for  quick-wittedness. 
He  is  a  cogging  and  bantering  juvenile  who  is 
always  catching  somebody  in  a  verbal  trap.  To 
the  simple-minded  Costard  he  is  the  nonpareil 
of  wits  because  he  always  succeeds  in  "putting 
down"  others.  In  that  respect  he  is  Costard's 
delight:  "An*  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the 
world  thou  should'st  have  it  to  buy  ginger- 
bread." Costard  wishes  the  boy  were  his 
"bastard"  so  that  he  might  be  blessed  with  so 
bright  a  son  (v,  i,  79). 

Armado,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  dandy 
pure  and  simple.  He  is  all  courtliness  and 
clothes.  But  as  to  intellect,  his  mind  is  a  mere 
collection  of  bizarre  phrases  and  knightly  no- 
tions by  which  he  affects  the  much-travelled 
courtier  and  man  of  wars.  To  Costard  he  would 
naturally  seem  the  very  paragon  of  ladies'  men. 

Now  what  sort  of  man  is  Boyet?  He  is  the 
French  nobleman  who  accompanied  the  Prin- 
cess and  her  ladies  to  England.  The  conductor 
of  such  a  party  is,  of  course,  your  complete 
ladies'  man;  and  as  we  see  in  this  scene  particu- 
larly, he  has  a  nimble  wit  in  their  playful  en- 
counters with  him. 

It  is  into  one  of  these  wit  encounters  that 


54      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

the  simple-minded  swain,  Costard,  finds  him- 
self projected.  It  is  a  hunting  scene  consisting 
of  the  Princess  and  the  ladies  of  her  train.  Ex- 
cepting the  huntsman  who  acts  as  their  guide, 
the  only  representative  of  the  stronger  sex  is 
Boyet.  But  presently,  in  the  midst  of  the 
play  of  wit,  another  son  of  man  appears  in  the 
person  of  Costard  who  has  been  sent  to  deliver 
a  letter,  and  it  is  not  long  until  this  interested 
spectator  is  putting  in  an  occasional  word  of 
his  own.  And  when  Boyet  gracefully  with- 
draws from  Maria's  parting  shot  and  Costard 
is  left  standing  alone,  he  is  mightily  puffed  up 
with  the  idea  that  he  and  the  ladies  have  van- 
quished such  a  personage  as  Boyet.  It  is  right 
in  this  connection  that  the  stubborn  passage 
comes. 

What  Costard  now  does  is  very  natural. 
Like  all  of  us  he  wishes  to  set  full  value  upon 
the  qualities  of  the  enemy,  for  thus  we  magnify 
our  own  prowess  in  the  encounter.  He  there- 
fore sets  about  characterizing  Boyet,  who,  as 
we  have  seen,  is  both  a  fine  courtier  and  a  wit; 
and  it  immediately  appears  to  Costard  that  in 
putting  down  such  a  man  he  has  outdone  an 
Armado  and  a  Moth  together,  all  in  one  person. 
As  his  rustic  mind  has  little  facility  in  abstract 
characterization,  he  goes  about  it  somewhat 
after  the  fashion  of  those  who  describe  a  neigh- 
bor as  being  a  Jones  o'  one  side  of  the  family  and 
a  Smith  o'  t'other.  Boyet  is  "Armado  o'  th' 
one  side"  and  "his  page  o'  t'other  side."  Such 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE       55 

is  the  man  he  has  worsted,  a  gentleman  and 
a  scholar;  and  it  is  none  the  less  humorous 
that  he  considers  the  specious  Armado  and  the 
precocious  Moth  as  the  beaux  ideals  of  the  two 
qualifications,  separately  considered. 

Finally,  having  taken  full  account  of  the 
enemy  and  set  him  at  a  high  value,  he  proceeds 
to  look  down  upon  him  from  his  own  point  of 
view  —  the  true  formula  for  setting  off  our  own 
superiority.  Boyet  may  be  all  this,  but  as 
compared  with  Costard  he  is  nothing  —  "Ah, 
heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit!  Sola,  sola." 

A  humble  clodhopper  like  Costard  naturally 
takes  pride  in  being  a  connoisseur  of  that  which 
he  has  not  —  bearing  and  brains,  aristocracy 
and  wit.  The  incident  itself  is  funny  in  the 
connection  in  which  it  occurs,  not  to  speak  of 
the  way  it  is  worded.  I  think  that  future  edi- 
tors should  be  careful  to  let  the  passage  remain 
where  it  is  in  the  Folio.  The  last  lines  of  a 
scene  are  an  important  position  with  Shakes- 
peare. 


DEFECT  OF  JUDGMENT 

Belarius I  am  absolute 

*T  was  very  Cloten. 

Arviragus.     In  this  place  we  left  them; 
I  wish  my  brother  make  good  time  with  him, 
You  say  he  is  so  fell. 

Belarius.     Being  scarse  made  up, 
I  meane  to  man;   For  defect  of  judgement 
Is  oft  the  cause  of  Feare. 

(First  Folio,  Cymbeline,  iv,  2) 

CLARK  and  Wright  and  the  generality  of 
editors  today  adopt  Theobald's  emendation 
"effect  of  judgment"  for  "defect  of  judg- 
ment." Those  who  have  retained  the  "defect" 
of  the  original  change  cause  to  cure,  like  Hanmer, 
or  to  sauce,  like  Staunton,  or  loss,  like  Nichol- 
son, or  cease,  like  Dowden.  Or  else,  if  they  keep 
these  two  words  of  the  Folio  they  change  Is  to 
As,  like  Knight.  Of  modern  editors,  Hudson 
changes  defect  to  act,  and  the  Elzevir  edition 
puts  fearlessness  in  place  of  fear.  Altogether, 
commentators  have  not  been  able  to  see  sense 
in  the  original  text;  and  emendation  has  gone 
on  continually  because  each  editor  has  been 
equally  unable  to  get  satisfactory  meaning  out 
of  the  other  emendations.  After  a  great  deal 
of  this  sort  of  effort,  the  best  scholars  have  gone 
back  to  Theobalds'  emendation  —  effect. 

At  first  I  was  very  much  puzzled  to  under- 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      57 

stand  why  so  many  men  of  ability  should  think 
emendation  necessary;  but  after  I  had  read 
Knight's  note  I  saw.  They  have  been  trying 
to  straighten  it  out  on  the  supposition  that  this 
passage  refers  to  Cloten.  This  is  a  misconcep- 
tion; it  refers  to  the  young  Guiderius.  There 
has  been  a  general  failure  to  follow  Belarius' 
drift  of  thought.  A  few  words  of  explanation 
will,  I  believe,  make  the  matter  plain. 

The  nobleman  Belarius  has  for  many  years 
lived  in  hiding  in  the  mountains,  his  home  being 
a  cave;  and  there  he  has  brought  up  the  two 
princes,  Arviragus  and  Guiderius,  from  infancy. 
They  are  now  strong,  healthy-minded  youths 
on  the  verge  of  manhood. 

One  day,  to  Belarius'  consternation,  there 
appears  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cave  a  fellow 
from  the  court  —  Cloten.  He  is  the  new 
queen's  son.  This  Cloten  is  a  brainless,  bla- 
tant, swaggering  sort  of  a  bull-calf  of  a  man. 
He  always  expected  an  opponent  to  be  cowed 
by  his  mere  announcement  that  he  was  the 
queen's  son;  and  he  accompanied  this  self- 
importance  with  a  seeming  ripeness  for  fight, 
a  bluster  and  abandon,  which,  to  anyone  who 
had  no  experience  with  human  nature,  would 
be  very  fearsome. 

By  a  turn  of  events  the  young  Guiderius, 
who  does  not  know  Cloten,  is  left  to  cope  with 
him  while  Belarius  and  Arviragus  hurry  away 
to  look  for  other  foes.  Now,  at  the  present 
point  in  the  play  these  two  are  coming  back, 


58      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

and  Arviragus  is  beginning  to  have  fears  for 
his  brother.  He  does  not  know  how  he  may 
have  fared  in  combat  with  Cloten.  He  says 
to  Belarius, 

I  wish  my  brother  make  good  time  with  him, 
You  say  he  is  so  fell. 

Evidently  Belarius  has  said  something,  as 
they  came  along,  which  led  Arviragus  to  con- 
clude that  Cloten  was  a  dangerous  sort  of  man 
for  his  brother  to  encounter:  "You  say  he  is 
so  fell."  When  Arviragus  says  this,  Belarius 
sees  at  once  that  the  boy  has  misunderstood 
his  remarks.  Cloten  is  not  a  dangerous  man  so 
far  as  bravery  and  swordsmanship  are  con- 
cerned; but  he  is  dangerous  to  one  who  does 
not  know  him,  because,  being  a  blusterer  and 
a  "roaring  terror,"  he  has  a  way  of  putting  an 
enemy  into  a  fright  before  he  starts  to  fight. 
All  through  the  play  we  see  that  Cloten  is  that 
sort  of  wind-bag  —  a  "roaring  terror."  He  is 
not  nearly  as  brave  a  man,  nor  as  able  a  fighter, 
as  young  Guiderius;  but  Belarius,  who  knows 
Cloten  of  old,  has  been  worrying,  nevertheless, 
for  he  reasons  that  the  boy,  knowing  little  of 
human  nature  and  never  having  come  across 
a  bully  before,  will  be  frightened  by  such 
bluster.  The  boys,  not  being  cowards  them- 
selves, naturally  take  such  show  of  valor  to  be 
genuine;  and  so,  when  Arviragus  remarks, 
"You  say  he  is  so  fell,"  Belarius  immediately 
explains,  as  best  he  can,  just  what  it  is  that  has 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      59 

been  worrying  him.  His  reply  is  substantially 
as  follows: 

What  I  meant  was  that  your  brother,  having 
spent  all  his  life  in  the  hiding  place  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  knowing  little  of  human  nature  — 
"being  scarce  made  up,  I  mean,  to  man"  — 
had  no  understanding  of  a  loud-mouthed 
bully  —  "had  no  apprehension  of  roaring  ter- 
rors "  —  for  it  is  often  the  case  that  though  a 
man  is  no  coward  a  misjudgment  of  what  is 
before  him  is  the  cause  of  fear  —  "  For  defect 
of  judgment  is  oft  the  cause  of  fear. "  Guider- 
ius  was  brave  and  an  excellent  swordsman; 
but  such  an  outlandish  pretender,  to  a  boy 
whose  experience  had  given  him  no  means  of 
judging  such  people,  might  put  him  in  a  panic. 

I  have  here  described  the  characters  and  the 
general  situation  and  have  quoted  all  the  words 
of  the  refractory  passage.  As  will  be  seen,  I 
think,  it  is  perfectly  plain  English.  What, 
indeed,  could  Shakespeare  write  that  would  be 
more  true  to  nature  in  this  case?  The  trouble 
has  been  simply  a  failure  to  follow  Belarius' 
natural  course  of  thought.  We  should  drop 
Theobald's  unnecessary  emendation,  forget  all 
about  the  commentators  who  have  since 
worked  over  the  supposed  corrupt  text,  and  get 
back  to  the  exact  words  of  the  Folio.  None 
of  their  emendations  makes  sense,  and  this  does. 

Knight  explains  his  own  text:  "In  this 
reading  of  as  for  is,  Belarius  says  that  Cloten, 
before  he  arrived  to  man's  estate,  had  not 


60      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

apprehension  of  terrors  on  account  of  defect  of 
judgment,  which  defect  is  as  often  the  cause  of 
fear."  Note  that  he  thinks  that  the  words  refer 
to  Cloten  "before  he  arrived  to  mans  estate."  Al- 
though I  am  not  writing  essays  on  the  plays, 
I  probably  ought  to  add,  to  make  sure  that 
there  will  be  no  further  emendation,  that  my 
interpretation  is  organic.  That  is  to  say,  it  is 
the  one  which  is  required  by  the  interactions  of 
the  play  and  its  effect  upon  the  spectators. 
When  Guiderius  comes  in  to  meet  the  other 
two,  and  we  find  that  he  has  not  only  killed 
Cloten  but  cut  his  head  off,  we  are  surprised  — 
and  not  unpleasantly.  But  an  audience  also 
enjoys  surprise  upon  the  part  of  the  characters 
on  the  stage;  and  this  gives  an  interesting 
turn  to  Belarius'  fears  for  the  inexperienced 
boy.  If  we  have  understood  what  he  said,  we 
understand  what  a  surprise  it  is  to  Belarius; 
and  this  is  the  effect  which  Shakespeare  was 
(organically)  engaged  upon. 


IGNORANCE  A  PLUMMET 

Falstaff.     Ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet  over  me. 

(Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  v,  5,  172) 

LANGUAGE  is  "fossil  poetry,"  or,  to  put  it 
more  plainly,  it  is  dead  poetry.  Our  fore- 
fathers, the  first  talkers,  had  to  invent  ways  of 
expressing  themselves,  and  they  frequently 
had  to  get  around  a  new  idea  by  means  of 
comparison,  live  images,  poetry  in  essence. 
We  inherit  these  ready-made  phrases;  the  fit- 
test survived;  but  we  are  so  used  to  them  that 
they  are  mere  signs  of  ideas;  we  do  not  have  to 
look  them  over  curiously  and  inspect  the  com- 
parison in  order  to  get  the  idea  as  would  a  man 
to  whom  it  was  said  for  the  first  time.  A  man 
speaking  English  does  not  think  of  the  ety- 
mology, the  derivation  or  poetic  origin,  of  a 
familiar  word.  It  is  the  same  with  our  ready- 
made  phrases  as  with  words;  we  would  no  more 
think  of  looking  into  them  and  thinking  what  it 
is  they  are  really  saying  than  we  would  think  of 
questioning  why  man  means  man.  We  already 
know  the  idea  they  stand  for  the  moment 
they  are  said,  and  that  is  enough;  but  origi- 
nally that  was  not  enough;  they  had  to  be  lit- 
erally understood  to  catch  the  comparison  or 
poetry.  Thus  language  is  dead  poetry.  It  is 


62      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

dead  because  we  are  no  longer  alive  to  the 
meanings.  Some  of  these  original  meanings 
have  become  so  lost  in  the  back  recesses  of  the 
human  mind  that  they  are  beyond  recovery. 

For  the  sake  of  illustration,  let  us  look  in  the 
face  one  of  our  everyday  expressions  —  "He 
is  sunk  in  the  depths  of  ignorance/'  Why  this 
"sunk"  and  why  this  "depths"?  There  was 
originally  an  allusion,  a  comparison  to  some- 
thing; and  every  figure  of  speech  has  two  sides 
else  it  would  fail  of  its  very  purpose.  What 
mental  picture,  then,  is  it  supposed  to  call  up? 
It  means  of  course  that  a  man  is  very  ignorant, 
but  what  was  the  exact  vivid  and  visual  con- 
cept which  was  supposed  to  come  before  the 
mind  in  order  to  enforce  the  meaning  ?  "  Sunk  " 
would  naturally  remind  us  of  water  as  being 
the  thing  we  usually  sink  in;  and  "depths" 
would  seem  to  have  the  same  allusion.  It 
certainly  had  some  tacit  reference;  and  can 
it  be  that  an  ignorant  man  is  depicted  as  one 
whose  nature  is  such  that  he  seems  to  be  in  a 
semi-darkness,  as  in  the  depths  of  water,  and 
that  he  there  sits  in  the  obscurity  and  gropes 
around  in  the  darkness  of  his  own  mind?  Or 
possibly  sunk  in  a  strange  unexplored  pit  be- 
neath the  light  and  level  of  the  average  man  ? 
Such  inquiries  are  so  far  from  our  everyday 
common-sense  concern  that  they  seem  almost 
foolish  —  especially  to  the  unimaginative  mind. 

But  Shakespeare  was  not  an  unimaginative 
mind,  nor  an  unthoughtful  one.  One  of  the 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      63 

most  interesting  phases  of  his  work  is  his  curi- 
ous interest  in  words  with  regard  to  their  his- 
torical underlying  poetry.  The  study  of  words 
is,  in  fact,  a  study  in  human  nature  and  in  psy- 
chology, for  they  tell  interesting  tales  of  the 
natural  and  fundamentally  poetic  mind;  and 
to  a  poet  and  a  worker  in  words  it  is  all  a  matter 
to  be  deeply  looked  into.  It  is  remarkable 
how  often  his  ways  of  speech  are  simply  current 
phrases  put  in  different  words  to  make  them 
strike  the  mind  anew;  he  had  great  confidence 
in  the  power  of  the  original  poetry  of  the  mind. 
Most  often,  too,  those  allusions  which  we  so 
easily  call  "puns"  are  a  word-worker's  curious 
interest  in  words  per  se. 

I  have  made  the  above  excursion  merely  by 
way  of  getting  the  reader's  mind  out  of  the 
normal  everyday  mood  for  a  moment  and  into 
a  Shakespearean  attitude.  Shakespeare's  fig- 
ures of  speech  are  often  so  ingeniously  fit  that 
they  illustrate  more  than  we  are  accustomed  to. 
It  might  be  so  in  the  famous  obscurity  "Igno- 
rance is  a  plummet"  which  let  us  now  examine. 

When  Shakespeare  wrote  this  line  he  had  a 
little  problem  before  him,  namely,  to  express 
not  merely  ignorance  but  extreme  ignorance 
upon  the  part  of  FalstafF.  It  must  have  the 
humorous  exaggeration  characteristic  of  Fal- 
stafF, but  at  the  same  time,  when  seriously 
viewed  from  FalstafFs  standpoint,  it  must 
convey  an  idea  of  his  extreme  feeling  of 
humiliation.  FalstafF  was  ignorant;  extremely 


64      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

ignorant.  He  was  in  fact  worse  than  ignorant; 
so  emphatically  so  that  if  Ignorance  itself, 
ignorance  absolute,  were  used  as  a  standard 
of  measurement,  Falstaff  would  be  found  lower 
down  in  the  scale. 

Now  how  would  Shakespeare  go  about  ex- 
pressing this  so  that  the  figure  of  speech  would 
have  the  definiteness  and  at  the  same  time  the 
atmosphere  and  feeling  required?  First  he 
considered  facts.  We  measure  entirely  by  com- 
parison; therefore  we  have  an  established 
standard  of  comparison.  In  this  case  Ignorance 
itself,  or  ignorance  absolute  and  to  its  final 
length  of  measurement,  is  the  standard.  And 
if  the  average  man,  familiar  with  ignorance 
itself,  were  thus  to  try  to  measure  FalstafFs 
state  of  mind  by  comparison,  Falstaff  would 
be  so  far  down  that  that  standard  of  measure- 
ment would  not  reach  the  place. 

The  realm  or  atmosphere  into  which  the 
comparison  is  put  is  in  the  deep  obscurity  of 
the  sea  —  down  there  on  the  lowest  level  of 
things.  And  Falstaff  was  feeling  like  an  out- 
landish creature  when  he  said  it;  he  had  been 
so  egregiously  humiliated.  Therefore,  if  the 
average  intelligent  person,  one  of  the  general 
run  of  folks,  wished  to  conceive  his  mental 
position,  ignorance  itself,  let  down  into  the 
depths  like  a  plummet  into  the  sea,  would  fail 
to  reach  the  spot  and  give  an  idea  of  his  sunken- 
ness.  Ignorance  itself,  the  standard  of  com- 
parison, would  be  "a  plummet  over  me." 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      65 

Commentators,  in  struggling  with  this  crux, 
have  tried  to  see  some  aptness  in  the  uses  of  a 
plumb-line  as  used  by  a  mason  to  rectify  and 
adjust.  But  plummet  does  not  mean  that  in 
Shakespeare.  It  is  not  the  name  of  the  mason's 
tool  but  of  the  sailor's,  and  Shakespeare  observed 
the  distinction  in  his  works.  When  he  means 
the  mason's  tool  he  calls  it  a  "line,"  as  in  the 
Tempest,  where  Trinculo  says  "we  steal  by 
line  and  level."  That  is  to  say,  a  mason  then 
as  today  adjusted  things  with  a  line  and  bob, 
the  latter  being  the  lead  on  the  end  of  the  line. 
And  when  Shakespeare  meant  a  plummet,  a 
quite  different  thing  as  used  for  different  pur- 
poses, he  said  so;  as  for  instance  in  the  Tem- 
pest— "I'll  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet 
sounded,"  and  "deeper  than  did  ever  plummet 
sound  I'll  drown  my  book."  And  so,  entirely 
regardless  of  whether  my  explanation  is  accept- 
able or  not,  we  have  got  to  accept  what  Shake- 
speare says.  Being  a  plummet,  it  is  a  matter 
of  depth.  The  plummet  proper  is  the  piece  of 
lead  on  the  end  of  the  line;  and  this  it  is,  ac- 
cording to  the  statement  itself,  that  represents 
Ignorance  itself,  which  is  over  him.  Nothing 
could  be  plainer;  and  if  we  can  follow  no  far- 
ther it  is  for  lack  of  Shakespearean  imagination. 

The  important  point  of  the  figure  is  that  it 
is  the  average  human  being  who  is  supposed  to 
be  measuring  Falstaff;  it  is  not  Ignorance 
itself.  The  latter  is  only  the  standard  of 
comparison,  the  plummet  at  its  lowest.  Philo- 


66      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

sophically  it  is  a  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
we  measure  by  comparison.  Psychologically, 
or  in  respect  of  the  mind  itself,  the  figure  is 
very  true;  for  the  intelligent  mind  cannot  de- 
scend to  the  level  even  of  Ignorance;  but  being 
familiar  with  it  he  might  try  to  measure  Fal- 
stafFs  depth  comparatively;  and  fail  because 
Ignorance  itself  does  not  descend  so  low. 

Samuel  Johnson  was  so  baffled  here  that  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  word  plummet 
was  an  error;  he  thought  it  ought  to  be  plume. 

The  present  state  of  conjecture  is  summed  up 
in  Professor  C.  F.  Johnson's  Shakespeare  and 
his  Critics  (1909):  "The  exact  meaning  of  this 
passage  is  obscure,  but  it  is  difficult  to  see  how 
'plume'  enlightens  it.  Falstaff  may  mean,  I 
am  so  shallow  that  ignorance  can  sound  me 
with  a  plummet,  or,  ignorance  can  hold  a  plumb 
line  to  rectify  my  errors.  The  difficulty  lies 
in  the  word  'over. " 

This  last  remark  is  to  the  point  —  the  diffi- 
culty is  in  the  word  "over."  And  also,  I  might 
add,  in  the  fact  that  "ignorance  is  a  plummet 
over  me."  Holding  a  plumb-line  and  being  a 
plummet  are  two  different  things. 


POMPEY 

Biron.  Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  great  Pompey. 
Pompey  the  huge. 

(Love's  Labour's  Lost,  v,  2,  691) 

A  GREAT  deal  is  lost  here  through  the  failure 
of  editors  to  perceive  what  is  being  said.  The 
line  needs  to  be  repunctuated  in  order  to  bring 
out  the  point  of  view. 

The  passage  occurs  where  the  fun-loving 
companions  of  the  French  Princess  and  the 
king  of  Navarre  are  stirring  up  the  clown  Cos- 
tard to  fight  Armado  the  braggart.  In  the  little 
theatrical  entertainment  which  these  vain- 
glorious and  ridiculous  characters  have  been 
presenting  before  the  royal  party,  Costard  has 
acted  the  part  of  Pompey  while  Armado  has 
strutted  forth  as  Hector.  In  order  to  get  Cos- 
tard to  take  off  his  coat  and  fight  Armado,  the 
members  of  the  royal  party  vie  with  each  other 
in  inflating  his  vanity  still  more.  Printed  as 
Shakespeare  evidently  wrote  it,  the  line  would 
come  as  follows: 

Dumain.     Most  rare  Pompey. 
Boyet.     Renowned  Pompey. 

Biron.  Greater  than  great.  Great  great  great  Pompey. 
Pompey  the  Huge. 

Besides  making  the  words  say  the  right  thing, 
this  accords  with  the  Shakespearean  art  of 


68      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

writing.  The  first  short  statement  of  Biron's 
brings  out  at  once  the  point  of  view,  namely, 
that  Costard  is  greater  than  Pompey  the  Great. 
The  audience  having  now  caught  the  idea,  the 
egregious  title  of  great-great-great  rolls  up 
with  increasing  ridiculousness  as  applying  to 
the  mock  Pompey  before  us.  It  is  a  main 
point  of  literary  art  to  have  a  sentence  or  pas- 
sage anticipate  its  construction  or  point  of  view. 
When  anything  requiring  a  slightly  unusual 
point  of  view  is  to  be  conveyed,  the  art  of  an- 
ticipation is  most  important.  The  point  of 
view  is  indicated  at  once,  and  then  follows  the 
richer  unfolding. 

But  the  trouble  with  this  line,  principally, 
is  that  after  you  have  held  the  words  in  mind 
and  got  to  the  end  it  has  not  said  the  right 
thing.  As  universally  printed,  the  four  greats 
are  made  to  refer  to  the  Roman  Pompey  him- 
self, than  whom  this  mock  Pompey  is  said  to 
be  greater.  But  Shakespeare  did  not  intend 
to  burlesque  the  historical  Pompey.  The  ri- 
diculous and  grandparent-like  title  was  intended 
to  come  in  such  a  way  as  to  refer  to  our  country- 
clown  Pompey  of  the  stage.  And  as  to  the 
other  objection  which  I  find  here,  Shakespeare 
understood  his  art  too  well  to  have  an  actor 
come  forth  and  deliver  that  mere  string  of 
words  —  great,  great,  great,  great. 

No  particular  editor  or  critic  is  responsible 
for  the  line  as  it  stands.  It  has  always  been 
printed  in  this  way. 


BRAKES  OF  ICE 

Some  rise  by  sin  and  some  by  virtue  fall: 
Some  run  from  brakes  of  ice  and  answer  none: 
And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 

(Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  i,  39) 

THE  central  fact  of  this  play  is  that  Angelo, 
the  strict  judge,  was  as  guilty  as  the  man  he 
condemned;  or  rather  more  so.  But  while 
Claudio  had  been  apprehended  Angelo's  deeper 
misdeed  had  never  been  brought  to  light.  The 
one  was  caught  and  the  other  was  not. 

Hunting  is  done  by  two  means,  sight  and 
scent.  On  ice  it  is  difficult  to  hunt  with  hounds 
because  ice  will  not  retain  the  scent.  In  a 
brake  it  is  impossible  to  hunt  by  sight  because 
you  cannot  see  nor  make  any  speed  if  you  did. 
Therefore,  the  most  hopeless  of  all  places  to 
follow  the  fox  or  other  beast  of  prey  would  be 
a  frozen  fen  or  a  brake  of  ice. 

The  law  catches  some  culprits  for  little  faults 
committed  in  the  open  and  fails  to  hunt  down 
crafty  malefactors  who  have  succeeded  in  hid- 
ing their  trail.  A  fox  in  an  icy  brake  might 
run  from  the  place  where  he  had  eaten  his  prey 
and  never  be  caught. 

The  words  of  the  passage  have  been  changed 
in  every  conceivable  way,  but  without  success. 


70      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Possibly  the  above,  which  keeps  the  wording 
of  the  original  and  fits  the  general  scheme  of 
the  plot,  might  be  the  solution.  In  the  Globe 
it  is  marked  with  the  obolus  —  hopelessly  cor- 
rupt. 


THE  TERRIBLE  PISTOL 

SCENE  IV.     The  field  of  battle.    Alarum.    Excursions. 

Enter  Pistol,  French  Soldier,  and  boy. 
Pist.    Yield  cur. 

Fr.  Sold.     Je  pense  que  vous  ties  le  gentilhomme  de  bonne  qualiti. 
Pist.     Qualtitie  calmie  custure  me!    Art  thou  a  gentleman? 
What  is  thy  name?     Discuss. 

(Henry  V,  iv,  4,  4) 

1 Qualtitie  calmie  custure  me'\  probably  Pistol  catches  the 
last  word  of  the  French  soldier's  speech,  repeats  it  and  adds  the 
refrain  of  a  popular  Irish  song, '  Calen,  0  custure  me'  =  '  colleen  og 
astore,'  i.e.  'young  girl  my  treasure.'  The  popularity  of  the 
song  is  evidenced  by  the  following  heading  of  one  of  the  songs 
in  Robinson's  Hanful  of  Pleasant  Delights  (cp.  Arber's  reprint, 
p.  33):  'A  Sonet  of  a  Lover  in  praise  of  his  lady.  To  Calen  o 
custure  me;  sung  at  euerie  line's  end ';  first  pointed  out  by  Malone. 
(The  present-day  interpretation  as  given  by  Gollancz) 

PISTOL  is  simply  doing  his  best  to  speak 
French,  as  follows :  —  Quel  litre  comme  ac coster 
me.  This  inquiry,  if  he  had  not  got  it  garbled 
into  semi-English,  his  French  prisoner  could 
easily  enough  have  understood  to  mean,  Tell 
me  what  your  title  is.  This,  as  we  see  by  the 
rest  of  the  scene,  is  exactly  what  Pistol  on  the 
battlefield  was  interested  in  knowing.  The 
whole  scene  is  based  on  Pistol's  anxiety  to  find 
out  the  title  of  any  prisoner  he  might  capture, 
whether  of  high  or  low  degree,  so  that  he  might 
know  how  much  ransom  he  would  be  able  to 


72      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

get.  Naturally,  when  Shakespeare  brings  this 
amusing  episode  before  our  eyes  on  the  field  of 
Agincourt,  the  very  first  words  from  Pistol's 
mouth  would  be  intended  to  show  this  interest 
in  names  or  titles.  The  endeavors  of  Pistol 
will  be  better  seen  if  we  print  what  he  was 
trying  to  say  in  line  with  what  he  did  say. 

Quel  titre  comme  accoster  me. 
Qual  titie  calmy    custure  me. 

From  our  close  acquaintance  with  the  amus- 
ing Pistol  in  two  plays  we  know  his  besetting 
vanity  —  words.  He  affected  a  bizarre  and 
impressive  manner  of  speech.  However  little 
he  might  amount  to  on  the  battlefield,  there 
was  nothing  in  the  shape  of  language  he  would 
hesitate  to  undertake.  Being  an  Englishman, 
his  ear  and  mind  would  not  accommodate 
themselves  very  easily  to  such  a  language  as 
French.  Its  elusive  shades  of  sound  he  would 
get  into  his  mind  in  good  round  English  terms. 
Hearing  the  word  comme  he  would  conceive  it 
as  calmy,  for  that  is  what  it  would  naturally 
sound  like  to  him;  and  so  with  the  rest  of  the 
language. 

Pistol  had  heard  the  sonorous  Frenchmen 
say  Quel  titre  (what  name)  and  his  hold  on  it 
was  very  elusive  and  uncertain.  And  so,  in 
this  scene,  when  the  French  nobleman  addresses 
him  as  a  " gentil-homme  de  bonne  qualite,"  he  is 
influenced  in  his  pronunciation  by  the  latter 
word;  especially  as  this  was  just  the  point  he 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      73 

was  interested  in.  By  its  having  to  do  with  a 
man's  quality  or  title,  he  got  Quel  litre  very 
comfortably  Anglicized  in  his  mind  as  qualtity. 
This  would  be  natural.  As  the  English  speak 
of  a  man's  position  as  his  "quality,"  Pistol, 
going  to  France  and  finding  that  Quel  titre 
meant  what  name  or  title,  would  note  the  re- 
semblance to  his  own  word  for  social  standing, 
and  the  nearest  he  would  come  to  French,  with 
that  in  mind,  would  be  qualtity  \  —  which  would 
be  very  much  like  French  when  a  French- 
man pronounced  it  trippingly  on  the  tongue. 
Shakespeare  devised  this  passage  and  gave  us 
the  cue  in  this  qualite  just  before  Pistol's  qual- 
titie  in  order  to  show  us  the  English  soldier's 
confused  state  of  mind  with  regard  to  French. 
Like  the  rest  of  us,  Pistol  had  an  instinct  to 
speak  French  in  English. 

Shakespeare's  audience  at  the  Globe  theatre, 
having  seen  Pistol  in  the  Second  Part  of  King 
Henry  IV,  would  be  familiar  with  his  facility 
with  high-flown  speech  —  his  prowess  in  words. 
He  has  a  flow  of  bizarre  grandiloquence  second 
to  no  character  in  the  plays  except  it  be  Don 
Adriano  de  Armado.  And  now  to  show  him 
virtually  tongue-tied  —  a  mere  babe  in  the 
matter  of  language  with  a  boy  to  interpret  for 
him  —  is  about  as  funny  a  thing  as  could  be 
done  with  Pistol. 

Malone's  conjecture  regarding  this  passage, 
which  has  been  the  regular  interpretation  ever 
since  it  was  propounded  in  1821,  is  open  to  very 


74      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

vital  objections.  It  does  not  fit  the  character 
nor  the  demands  of  the  situation.  Why 
should  an  English  soldier,  who  has  captured  a 
French  nobleman  and  is  all  taken  up  with  the 
idea  of  getting  money  from  him,  address  him 
with  the  title  of  a  tune,  in  Irish,  which  means, 
"young  girl  my  treasure?"  The  theory  upon 
which  this  is  accepted  is  that  Pistol  considers 
this  "as  good  as  anything  else"  to  say  to  a 
Frenchman.  But  Pistol  was  thinking  of  get- 
ting money,  his  mind  was  strictly  bent  upon 
that,  and  Pistol,  whatever  else  he  might  have 
been,  was  no  fool.  He  was  greedy  for  spoils. 
Again,  Shakespeare  has  a  way  of  striking  the 
keynote  of  a  play  or  a  scene  in  the  very  opening 
lines.  This  scene  is  taken  up  with  Pistol's 
effort  to  find  out  this  man's  standing  and  scare 
as  much  money  out  of  him  as  possible.  Why 
then  should  not  the  opening  line  of  the  scene 
have  to  do  with  this?  And  besides,  if  Pistol 
was  repeating  the  title  of  a  tune  in  Irish,  why 
does  he  not  repeat  the  name  of  the  "familiar" 
tune  at  all  but  something  very  different.  What 
he  says  resembles  the  name  of  the  tune  in  but 
one  word.  I  think  we  must  regard  him  as 
trying  to  speak  French,  especially  as  he  makes 
a  very  fair  attempt  at  it  for  an  ignorant  English 
soldier  and  says  the  very  thing  that  the  scene 
as  a  whole  would  require  him  to  say. 


THE  LIFE  TO  COME 

Macb.     If  it  were  done  when  't  is  done,  then  't  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly.     If  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
With  his  surcease  success;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  end-all  here, 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time 
We'd  jump  the  life  to  come. 

(Macbeth,  i,  7,  7) 

THE  words  bank  and  shoal  do  not  refer  to  the 
same  side  of  a  body  of  water.  They  refer  to 
two  opposite  sides  of  a  stream,  one  side  being  a 
bank  or  bluff  shore  and  the  other  a  smooth 
slope  of  sand.  The  picture  is  that  of  a  rider 
jumping  his  horse  over  such  an  obstruction. 
A  horseman,  in  making  a  jump  across  a  wide 
stream,  prefers  a  place  where  the  shore  is 
slightly  elevated  on  his  own  side  and  somewhat 
low  and  flat  on  the  other  —  a  bank  and  a  shoal. 
If  the  reader  will  imagine  a  rider  trying  a  wide 
leap  toward  a  bluff  shore,  on  the  edge  and  slopes 
of  which  his  horse  will  land  athwart  in  case  he 
falls  short,  he  will  readily  see  the  reason  for 
preparing  a  shoal  of  sand  to  light  on.  The  ele- 
vation on  his  own  side,  of  course,  enables  him 
to  make  a  long  jump.  This  same  point  of 
view  applies  to  the  passage  which  occurs  nine- 
teen lines  further  on  in  regard  to  "vaulting 


76      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

ambition."  Upon  this  basis  I  shall  explain  all 
the  moot  points  in  these  two  passages. 

Two  scenes  previous  to  this,  at  i,  5,  19,  Lady 
Macbeth,  speaking  of  her  husband's  ambition 
to  become  king,  fears  that  it  will  not  be  in  his 
nature  to  catch  "the  nearest  way."  This  was 
the  forerunner,  in  Shakespeare's  mind,  of  a 
point  of  view  which  he  was  to  work  out  in  more 
striking  form  when  the  time  for  Macbeth's 
decision  should  arrive. 

The  horseman  presented  to  our  imagination 
is  a  traveler.  The  goal  of  his  ambition  is  in 
plain  sight  before  him  but  a  forbidding  stream 
lies  between  himself  and  it.  In  riding  along 
the  shore  a  bank  and  shoal  present  themselves 
to  his  view.  Here  is  an  advantage;  shall  he 
take  it  or  not?  Being  impatient  to  cross,  he  is 
disposed  to  make  light  of  a  risky  jump.  But 
on  second  thoughts  and  further  view  he  realizes 
that  his  ambition  is  tempting  him  to  spur  his 
animal  on  to  a  leap  which  might  have  serious 
consequences.  If  a  horse  makes  a  leap  beyond 
his  ordinary  ability,  taking  a  wide  downward 
jump  so  that  he  is  unable  to  sustain  himself  on 
alighting,  the  results  are  likely  to  be  disastrous. 
Here  the  man's  confidence  begins  to  desert  him; 
he  sees  that  he  has  more  ambition  than  he  may 
be  able  to  carry  out  — 

I  have  no  spur 

To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition  which  o'erleaps  itself 
And  falls  on  th'  other  — 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      77 

Why  is  this  place  called  the  bank  and  shoal 
of  time?  A  horseman  in  such  a  case,  with  his 
destination  plainly  in  view,  and  therefore  very 
near  to  it  in  one  regard,  may  yet  be  very  far 
away  from  it  as  a  matter  of  fact.  He  will  have 
to  follow  along  till  he  comes  to  some  appointed 
way  of  getting  over,  a  bridge,  a  ford  or  a  fav- 
orable place  to  swim  and  make  a  landing.  In 
this  life  our  fond  hopes  and  ambitions  hold 
their  objects  very  plainly  before  the  mind's 
eye;  but  we  have  to  follow  down  the  obstruct- 
ing stream  of  time  till  our  opportunity  arrives, 
if  ever.  The  actual  horseman  in  this  case 
would  have  to  keep  on  till  the  time  came  to  get 
across;  therefore  this  stream,  to  all  practical  in- 
tents and  purposes,  is  time.  If  he  can  manage 
to  leap  across  it  at  once  he  is  virtually  leaping 
across  so  much  time;  therefore  the  bank  and 
shoal  between  which  his  leap  was  made  would 
be  the  bank  and  shoal  of  time. 

These  two  passages,  which  I  have  not  yet 
quite  fully  considered,  form  a  picture  which 
serves  as  a  lively  and  illuminating  parallel  to 
Macbeth's  case.  He  believes  thoroughly  in 
the  prophecy  of  the  witches  that  he  shall  be 
king;  both  he  and  Lady  Macbeth  see  the 
promised  land  before  them;  but  it  is  a  matter 
of  time  and  very  indefinite  in  that  regard. 
Suddenly  a  bank  and  shoal  presents  itself; 
King  Duncan  comes  to  spend  the  night  under 
their  roof.  It  is  an  inviting  advantage,  though 
risky;  if  Macbeth  kills  the  king  his  own  future 


78      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

will  have  arrived  at  once.  The  opportunity 
enchains  his  attention  and  he  expresses  his 
conflicting  emotions  in  the  language  of  a  horse- 
man —  which  Macbeth  was.  If  he  thought 
there  would  be  no  fatal  consequences  he  would 
decide  at  once  to  "jump  the  life  to  come." 

This  "life  to  come"  does  not  refer  to  the 
hereafter  as  many  critics  have  thought,  at  least 
not  primarily.  As  he  betrays  no  compunctions 
about  the  future,  being  wholly  absorbed  in  his 
one  ambition,  this  would  be  somewhat  out  of 
character.  It  means  that  he  will  jump  right 
into  the  life  of  a  king,  which  the  prophecy  has 
told  him  is  sometime  coming  to  him,  and  over 
the  intervening  time. 

Shakespeare  scholars  will  recognize  in  these 
two  passages  a  considerable  source  of  trouble 
to  past  generations.  On  account  of  some  eva- 
sive quality  about  the  lines,  there  has  been  a 
signal  failure  to  connect  the  two  parts  of  the 
soliloquy  as  having  any  relation  to  each  other, 
whereas  they  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  one 
mental  picture.  The  lay  reader  who  may  now 
consider  it  too  simple  to  require  explanation 
will  find  by  reference  to  annotated  editions  an 
interesting  study  in  the  psychology  of  Shake- 
spearean criticism. 


BADE  THEE  STAND  UP 

But  he  that  tempered  thee  bade  thee  stand  up, 
Gave  thee  no  instance  why  thou  should'st  do  treason, 
Unless  to  dub  thee  with  the  name  of  traitor. 

(Henry  V,  ii,  2,  118) 

THE  obscurity  which  invests  this  passage 
has  caused  the  words  "tempered"  and  "stand 
up"  to  be  a  fruitful  source  of  emendation  and 
conjecture.  The  present-day  understanding  of 
Henry's  remark  is  probably  stated  by  Gollancz 
as  well  as  any: 

"No  emendation  is  necessary,  tho'  it  is  uncertain  what  the 
exact  force  of  'bade  thee  stand  up,'  may  be,  whether  (l)  'like  an 
honest  man,'  or  (2)  'rise  in  rebellion.'" 

From  an  examination  of  emendations  from 
the  time  of  Johnson,  and  the  nature  of  the  criti- 
cal query  of  today,  it  appears  that  critics  have 
missed  the  idea  that  Lord  Scroop  is  being  re- 
garded by  Henry  as  a  devil's  knight  and  do  not 
realize  what  this  implies. 

A  knight  practiced  goodness  just  for  the  sake 
of  goodness.  He  went  about  protecting  the 
oppressed,  assisting  the  helpless  and  fighting 
the  battles  of  those  who  were  wronged,  and 
with  no  object  whatever  except  to  do  good. 
Chivalry  was  the  aristocratic  flower  of  Chris- 
tianity; it  was  not  limited  to  doing  to  others  as 


8O      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

you  would  have  them  do  to  you,  but  went  about 
aggressively  doing  good  to  the  complete  sacrifice 
of  self.  It  was  active  goodness  just  for  the 
ideal  of  doing  good. 

A  devil's  knight  therefore  would  be  one  who 
practiced  evil  just  for  the  sake  of  being  bad. 
He  would  be  an  entirely  gratuitous  and  unre- 
warded miscreant  —  a  man  who  did  not  even 
need  an  excuse  for  his  badness.  He  would 
belong  to  the  chivalry  of  evil. 

For  King  Henry  to  address  Scroop  from  such 
a  point  of  view  would  express  his  sentiments 
exactly.  Henry  was  baffled  to  know  why 
Scroop,  who  had  been  his  most  intimate  and 
favored  friend,  should  conspire  against  him 
and  prove  a  traitor.  The  only  possible  view  he 
could  take  was  that  Scroop  was  one  of  those 
natures  that  are  gratuitously  bad.  This  seemed 
to  be  so  strongly  the  truth  of  the  matter  that 
Henry  expressed  it  by  the  powerful  image  of  a 
man  who  had  been  consecrated  to  evil  deeds  as 
a  knight  is  consecrated  to  good  ones.  He  was 
a  devil's  knight;  and  just  as  a  Christian  king 
might  dub  a  knight  by  some  fit  and  distinctive 
title,  so  the  devil  had  dubbed  him  Sir  Traitor. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  answer  the  modern 
query  as  to  the  exact  force  of  the  words  stand  up. 

When  a  nobleman  was  raised  to  knighthood, 
it  was  the  custom,  after  the  king  had  struck 
him  across  the  shoulders  with  the  royal  sword 
and  dubbed  him  by  his  new  name,  to  tell  him  to 
stand  up.  The  practice  shows  itself  in  several 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      8 1 

places  in  Shakespeare:  "Iden  kneel  down. 
Rise  up  a  knight,"  (2  Henry  VI,  v,  i,  78). 
"I  will  make  myself  a  knight  presently.  Rise 
up  Sir  John  Mortimer/'  (2  Henry  VI,  iv,  2, 
128).  Moreover,  a  man  who  espoused  knight- 
hood in  the  Middle  Ages  did  it  out  of  emulation 
of  renowned  Christian  examples  and  a  regard 
for  high  religious  principles;  he  would  therefore, 
in  being  knighted,  have  recalled  to  his  mind 
these  great  "instances"  of  reasons  and  examples 
for  being  a  knight.  Shakespeare,  in  depicting 
Scroop  as  a  devil's  knight,  used  these  expressions 
"stand  up,"  and  "gave  thee  no  instance,"  so 
that  King  Henry's  shaft  would  be  driven  home 
with  a  still  deeper  irony.  The  devil,  as  the 
text  says,  did  not  need  to  do  this  with  Scroop 
—  such  ceremonies  were  unnecessary  in  his 
case.  The  devil,  seeing  what  sort  of  man  he 
had  before  him,  knew  that  Scroop  would  not 
need  to  be  incited  to  deeds  of  badness  by  great 
examples  of  evil;  he  could  be  depended  upon  to 
do  bad  without  reason  or  example.  And  so  the 
devil  simply  struck  him  with  the  sword  as  he 
knelt  and  then  said,  "Stand  up."  That  was 
all.  In  short,  there  was  no  use  in  his  being 
knighted  at  all  except  that  he  aspired  to  the 
title  —  Traitor. 

Such  words,  addressed  to  Scroop,  who  was 
himself  a  nobleman  and  understood  all  that 
knighthood  implied,  would  stab  to  the  quick. 
He  was  guilty  of  the  worst  sort  of  traitorship  — 
not  only  to  his  king  but  to  his  friend.  Henry 


82      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

would  naturally  feel  this  bitterly;  and  so 
Shakespeare  had  to  express  it  with  adequate 
force. 

If  the  reader  will  refer  to  the  text  he  will  see 
that  this  passage  is  preceded  by  seven  lines 
which  speak  of  a  "cunning  fiend"  who  "got 
the  voice  in  hell"  for  the  way  in  which  he 
wrought  upon  Scroop.  This  is  generally  under- 
stood, of  course,  as  referring  to  a  devil;  but 
why  this  image  has  not  been  carried  on  by 
critics  and  applied  to  the  continuing  lines  I  do 
not  understand.  To  be  sure,  there  is  no  refer- 
ence to  knighthood  anywhere  except  as  it  is 
alluded  to  in  these  three  lines  by  such  words 
as  "dubbed"  and  "stand  up."  There  seems 
to  have  been  a  general  failure  to  catch  the  es- 
sential idea  as  applied  to  the  general  circum- 
stances. All  this  Shakespeare  conveyed  in 
three  lines. 

I  might  add  that  "tempered"  is  a  figurative 
usage.  The  king  struck  the  candidate  for 
knighthood  across  the  shoulder  with  his  sword; 
it  was  at  this  moment  that  he  became  a  knight. 
There  is  an  implication  that  this  sudden  meta- 
morphosis is  like  the  tempering  of  metal,  which 
is  changed  by  striking.  In  keeping  with 
Shakespeare's  word-use  it  also  has,  faintly  and 
secondarily,  its  usual  meaning  of  compound- 
ing or  mixing  ingredients,  hence  making. 


AY  AND  NO 

Lear.  No  they  cannot  touch  me  for  coining.  I  am  the  king 
himself. 

Edgar.     O  thou  side-piercing  sight. 

Lear.  Nature's  above  art  in  that  respect.  There's  your  press- 
money.  That  fellow  handles  his  bow  like  a  crow-keeper;  draw 
me  a  clothier's  yard.  Look,  look,  a  mouse.  Peace,  peace;  this 
piece  of  toasted  cheese  will  do  't.  There's  my  gauntlet;  I'll  prove 
it  on  a  giant.  Bring  up  the  brown  bills.  O  well  flown  bird.  P 
the  clout,  i'  the  clout!  Hewgh!  Give  the  word. 

Edgar.     Sweet  Marjoram. 

Lear.     Pass. 

Gloucester.     I  know  that  voice. 

Lear.  Ha!  Goneril,  with  a  white  beard.  They  flattered  me 
like  a  dog,  and  told  me  I  had  the  white  hairs  in  my  beard  ere  the 
black  ones  were  there.  To  say  "ay"  and  "no"  to  everything 
that  I  said!  "Ay"  and  "no"  too  was  no  good  divinity.  When 
the  rain  came  to  wet  me  once,  and  the  wind  to  make  me  chatter; 
when  the  thunder  would  not  peace  at  my  bidding;  there  I  found 
'em,  there  I  smelt  'em  out.  Go  to,  they  are  not  men  o'  their 
words;  they  told  me  I  was  everything;  't  is  a  lie,  I  am  not  ague- 
proof. 

(Lear,  iv,  6,  83)    ; 

THE  trouble  in  the  above  passage  is  the  re- 
mark, "To  say  'ay'  and  'no'  to  everything 
that  I  said!  'Ay'  and  'no'  too  was  no  good 
divinity."  The  traditional  editorial  note  which, 
in  lack  of  anything  better,  is  still  doing  service 
in  all  annotated  editions,  is  —  "Let  your  com- 
munication be,  Yea,  yea;  Nay,  nay."  (Matthew 
5;  37).  What  this  has  to  do  with  the  sense 
here  is  never  touched  upon.  It  is  just  a  con- 


84      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

jecture  that  this  is  the  "allusion"  —  as  if 
Shakespeare  made  allusions  without  any  idea. 

When  we  understand  Shakespeare's  method 
of  depicting  insanity  throughout  his  works,  it 
is  easy  enough  to  see  where  Lear  got  this  "ay" 
and  this  "no."  There  had  just  resounded,  in 
slow  impressive  tones,  on  Lear's  irresponsible 
brain,  the  words  —  "I  —  know  —  that  voice." 

Shakespeare,  in  depicting  insanity,  shows  the 
mind  as  being  the  shuttlecock  of  chance  sug- 
gestion. The  songs  of  Ophelia  have  several 
features  which  would  make  an  interesting  illus- 
tration of  this  way  of  work;  but  for  our  present 
purpose  it  will  be  better  to  illustrate  the  point 
from  the  passage  in  which  this  "ay"  and  "no" 
occur. 

Lear  calls  for  them  to  bring  up  the  "brown 
bills,"  these  being  soldiers  who  carried  halberds 
or  bills  which  were  painted  brown  to  keep  them 
from  rusting.  This  "bills"  reminds  him  of  a 
bird,  a  falcon,  and  this  immediately  makes  him 
think  of  a  feathered  arrow  flying  to  its  mark  — 
"0,  well  flown  bird"  —  and  as  the  arrow  hits 
the  center  of  the  target  or  clout  the  imaginary 
target-tender  gives  the  "word"  as  to  how 
the  arrow  flew;  but  immediately  this  "word" 
becomes  changed  in  Lear's  mind  to  the  idea  of 
a  password,  and  so,  when  the  wondering  and 
grieved  Edgar  exclaims  "Sweet  marjoram," 
Lear  takes  it  for  the  call  to  the  sentinel  and 
answers  "Pass." 

Here  is  a  close-knit,  if  irrational,  succession 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      85 

of  ideas;  they  spring  out  of  one  another  upon 
the  mere  suggestion  of  words  —  first  one  re- 
minder and  then  another.  On  the  same  prin- 
ciple, the  "ay  and  no"  conception  was  started 
up  in  Lear's  mind  by  Gloucester's  "/ — know — 
that  voice."  So  also  the  "Peace,  peace,"  re- 
minded him  of  a  "piece"  of  something — which 
for  his  present  purposes  happened  to  be  cheese. 
The  insane  mind,  in  its  highly  imaginative 
form,  is  the  prey  of  the  least  suggestion;  and 
like  the  sane  mind  it  moves  easiest  along  the 
line  of  similarities,  as  in  these  cases.  Next  to 
ideas  aroused  by  mere  similarities  of  words, 
Lear's  mind  most  easily  enlarges  upon  an  idea 
by  thinking  of  its  opposite.  "There's  your 
press-money."  That  moment  he  is  thinking 
of  war;  he  has  enlisted  or  impressed  a  soldier, 
and  the  soldier  does  not  draw  the  bow  to  suit 
him.  Suddenly  his  mind  jumps  to  "Peace, 
peace;  this  piece  of  toasted  cheese  will  do  't." 
The  very  opposite  of  military  power,  brute 
force,  is  the  small  shrewdness  of  catching  a 
mouse.  From  thinking  of  war  he  thought  of 
peace,  and  the  suggested  "piece"  furnished 
him  with  just  what  he  wanted  —  something 
quite  shrewd  and  the  very  opposite  of  war. 
Lear  had  been  anything  but  shrewd  all  through 
his  life;  and  the  mind  always  likes  to  think 
itself  that  which  it  is  not.  But  instantly  there 
is  a  reaction  and  he  is  the  old  mandatory  Lear 
who  knows  nothing  but  power  —  "  there's  my 
gauntlet;  I'll  prove  it  on  a  giant."  And  finally 


86      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

he  ends  with  thinking  himself  very  shrewd  in- 
deed—  "when  the  thunder  would  not  peace 
at  my  bidding;  there  I  found  'em,  there  I  smelt 
'em  out."  This  passage  is  a  study  of  mind, 
character  and  personal  history.  The  unbal- 
anced mind,  as  Shakespeare  shows  it,  does  not 
lack  idea;  it  lacks  continuity  of  thought. 

What  idea,  then,  are  we  to  get  from  these 
words,  "To  say  'ay'  and  'no'  to  everything 
that  I  said!  'Ay'  and  'no'  too  was  no  good 
divinity."  This  is  a  question  which  does  not 
seem  ever  to  have  been  satisfactorily  answered. 
White  queries,  "Why  should  his  knights  say 
'ay'  and  'no'  to  everything  he  said?" 

The  first  Folio  has  it:  "To  say  I,  and  no,  to 
every  thing  that  I  said:  I,  and  no  too,  was  no 
good  divinity."  The  first  Quarto  reads :  "  saide, 
I  and  no  toe,  was,"  etc.  Inasmuch  as  our 
modern  reading  is  an  editorial  correction  of  the 
Folio,  which  is  as  usual  punctuated  at  random, 
I  think  that  if  I  were  editing  the  play  I  should 
not  long  hesitate  to  adopt  a  suggestion  made 
several  generations  ago:  "To  say  ay  and  no  to 
everything  that  I  said  ay  and  no  to  was  no  good 
divinity." 

Lear's  one  great  lesson  had  been  that  his 
followers  were  self-seeking  flatterers;  they  did 
not  tell  him  the  truth  about  himself.  A  man 
who  will  say  ay  or  no  to  anything  whatever, 
according  as  his  interest  lies,  is  simply  a  liar; 
and  lying  is  no  good  divinity.  A  "clothier's 
yard  "  does  not  refer  to  a  particular  sort  of  yard 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      87 

as  a  standard  of  measurement;  it  is  the  distance 
from  the  tip  of  the  nose  to  the  end  of  the  thumb 
when  the  arm  is  stretched  out  sidewise.  A 
bowman  who  could  draw  a  clothier's  yard  was 
one  who,  when  the  butt  of  the  shaft  was  at  his 
nose,  had  the  strength  to  force  the  bow  out  the 
full  length  of  the  arm.  While  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  "clothier's  yard"  in  measurement, 
it  is  no  different  from  any  other  yard  except 
in  the  way  the  yardstick  is  divided  —  and 
this,  of  course,  is  not  the  reference  in  speaking 
of  the  bowman's  ability.  An  archer  of  size 
and  strength  had  to  have  an  arrow  of  such 
length  that  he  could  use  it  in  this  way;  and  so, 
when  the  "Ballad  of  Chevy  Chase"  (to  which 
commentators  refer)  speaks  of  "an  arrow  of  a 
cloth-yard  long"  it  refers  to  this  ability  and  not 
to  a  standard  of  measurement.  I  have  added 
this  note  because  Shakespeare  notes  and  vo- 
cabularies seem  undecided  or  evasive  regarding 
the  exact  meaning.  "  Clothier's  yard  —  a  cloth- 
yard  shaft  was  a  term  for  the  old  English  arrow" 
(Globe  editors.) 


GRACE  AND  HIGHNESS 

Westmoreland.     They    know    your    grace    hath  cause   and 

means  and  might; 

So  hath  yoir*highness;  never  king  of  England 
Had  nobles  richer,  —  etc. 

(Henry  V,  i,  2,  126) 

WESTMORELAND  addresses  Henry  V  by  his 
two  titles  separately.     This  puzzled  Coleridge, 
ho  wrote:    "Perhaps  the  lines  ought  to  be 
recited  dramatically,  thus: 

They  know  your  Grace  hath  cause  and  means  and  might;  — 
So  hath  your  Highness  —  never  king  of  England 
Had  nobles  richer,  &c." 


Hanmer,  *who  was 
Commons,  amended  to  race;  but  Coleridge's 
explanation  with  the  accent  on  hath  and  had 
became  the  standard  acceptation.  /  Knight  used 
it  (1843)  but  of  later  editors  Staurfton  amended. 
He  thought  it  necessary  to  change  hath  to  haste. 
The  exact  idea  here  seems  to  be  still  clouded. 

"Grace"  as  applied  to  a  king  refers,  of  course, 
to  the  fact  that  he  reigns  by  divine  favor  and 
guidance.  "Your  Grace"  points  upward  to  his 
relations  to  heaven;  "Your  highness"  alludes 
to  his  earthly  elevation  as  regards  the  rest  of 
humanity.  Shakespeare  put  them  in  this  sep- 
arate and  peculiar  way  in  order  to  bring  them 
out  as  words  and  emphasize  them  in  their  es- 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      89 

sential  meaning;  and  he  did  this  for  a  particular 
purpose. 

The  wild  Prince  Hal,  whom  the  audience  at 
the  Globe  Theater  had  learned  to  associate 
with  such  company  as  Falstaff  and  Doll  Tear- 
sheet  and  Mrs.  Quickly  and  all  that  red -lattice 
crew,  now  comes  forward  in  a  new  play,  "Henry 
V."  Prince  Hal  is  king.  Note  how  the  play 
opens : — 

"The  king  is  full  of  grace  and  fair  regard," 
says  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  talking 
privately  to  the  Bishop  of  Ely. 

"And  a  true  lover  of  the  holy  church,"  adds 
Ely. 

"The  courses  of  his  youth  promised  it  not," 
continues  Canterbury. 

"We  are  blessed  in  the  change,"  reflects  Ely. 

"Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity,  and,  all 
admiring,  with  an  inward  wish,  you  would 
desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate;  hear  him 
debate  of  commonwealth  affairs,"  etc. 

There  had  been  little  hope  that  Prince  Hal 
would  ever  amount  to  much.  The  Globe 
audience  —  who  had  known  all  along  that  Hal 
was  only  having  his  fling  and  did  not  take  low 
life  too  seriously  —  must  have  enjoyed  this 
vindication  of  their  good  opinions  of  him. 
There  is  deep  humor  in  the  puzzlement  of  the 
reverend  Archbishop  that  such  perfect  kingly 
deportment  should  manifest  itself  in  him. 

Scene  two  keeps  right  on  with  this  theme  of 
grace  in  the  king.  We  now  see  it  not  merely 


9O      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

stated  but  in  practical  operation.  And  we 
perceive  that  the  dignitaries  of  the  church  have 
good  reason  for  their  high  opinions  of  him.  He 
consults  them  in  matters  of  importance.  He 
recognizes  them  in  their  particular  branch  of 
government.  He  gives  them  work  to  do. 

Being  about  to  go  to  war  with  France,  he 
makes  great  question  of  his  moral  right  in  the 
point  at  issue;  and  it  is  for  the  clergy  to  decide 
this  question  regarding  the  Salic  law.  The 
Archbishop  has  been  given  this  matter  to 
"justly  and  religiously  unfold,"  and  now  in 
Scene  two  he  comes  in  with  his  report  in 
hand.  The  verdict  of  the  Archbishop  is  that 
the  king  has  the  law  on  his  side.  But  Henry  is 
not  satisfied.  "May  I  with  right  and  conscience 
make  this  claim?" 

"For  in  the  book  of  Numbers  is  it  writ," 
answers  the  churchman,  proceeding  to  show 
that  religion  will  not  be  violated.  The  rest  of 
his  noblemen  now  lend  him  their  voices  in  favor 
of  the  step.  It  is  in  this  connection,  with 
Westmoreland's  speech,  that  we  have  the  pe- 
culiar passage.  Henry  has  put  the  whole  stress 
on  a  question  of  moral  right;  hence  it  is  easy  to 
see  why  Shakespeare  had  the  Earl  begin,  "They 
know  your  grace  hath  cause  and  means  and 
might"  —  which  is  to  say,  he  is  justified  before 
heaven  as  a  king  of  grace.  "  They  know"  (Can- 
terbury and  Ely)  because  they  have  looked  into 
the  law  and  consulted  the  Bible. 

No  question  had  been  made  as  to  the  physical 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      9! 

power  to  win  the  victory  over  France.  It  was 
the  king's  conscience  that  was  being  satisfied. 
But  now  Westmoreland,  representing  the  tem- 
poral power,  adds,  "So  hath  your  highness." 
The  effect  of  this  separate  address  of  Henry  by 
his  temporal  title  is  to  set  off  the  other  title  in 
its  essential  meaning  and  emphasize  it.  It  is 
this  particular  view  of  the  much-changed  Prince 
Hal  that  Shakespeare  is  setting  forth  —  he  has 
become  a  king  in  all  its  branches.  And  in  no 
way  could  it  be  so  effectively  emphasized.  In 
short,  these  words  are  in  keeping  with  the 
whole  organism  of  the  play,  with  regard  to 
character,  up  to  this  point. 

Possibly  a  few  stanzas  of  a  poem  by  Stephen 
Hawes  (1506)  which  I  recently  came  across, 
would  be  of  interest  in  this  connection : 

To  the  high  and  mighty  Prince,  Henry  the  Seventh,  by  the 
grace  of  God  king  of  England,  and  of  France,  Lord  of  Ireland,  etc. 

Right  mighty  prince,  and  redoubted  sovereign, 

Sailing  forth  well  in  the  ship  of  grace 

Over  the  waves  of  life  uncertain, 

Right  toward  heaven  to  have  dwelling  place; 

Grace  doth  you  guide  in  every  doubtful  case; 

Your  governance  doth  evermore  eschew 

The  sin  of  sloth,  enemy  to  virtue. 

Grace  stirreth  well;  the  grace  of  God  is  great 

Which  you  have  brought  to  your  royal  see, 

And  in  your  right  it  hath  you  surely  set 

Above  us  all  to  have  the  sovereignty; 

Whose  worth,  power  and  regal  dignity 

All  our  rancor  and  our  debate  'gan  cease 

And  hath  us  brought  both  wealth  and  rest  and  peace. 


92      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Your  noble  grace  and  excellent  highness 
For  to  accept  I  beseech  right  humbly 
This  little  book,  etc. 

This  shows  plainly  enough  what  a  king's 
"grace"  meant  to  the  mind  of  an  Englishman 
four  hundred  years  ago.  Note  "your  noble 
grace  and  excellent  highness,"  the  then  form 
of  address. 


LAFEU 

Clown.  Why,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you  I  can  serve  as  great 
a  prince  as  you  are. 

Lafeu.     Who's  that?    A  Frenchman? 

Clown.  Faith,  sir,  'a  has  an  English  name;  but  his  fisnomy  is 
more  hotter  in  France  than  there. 

Lafeu.     What  prince  is  that? 

Clown.  The  black  prince,  sir;  alias,  the  prince  of  darkness; 
alias,  the  devil. 

Lafeu.  Hold  thee,  there's  my  purse;  I  give  thee  not  this  to 
suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou  talkest  of;  serve  him  still. 

Clown.  I  am  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  always  loved  a  great 
fire;  and  the  master  I  speak  of  ever  keeps  a  good  fire. 

(All's  Well,  iv,  5,  41) 

NOTES  on  this  pass  of  wit  seem  to  have  gone 
astray  because  the  commentators  have  missed 
the  point  of  the  clown's  joke.  The  clown's 
whole  allusion  is  to  the  fact  that  in  French 
Lafeu  (la  feu)  means  the  fire.  From  this  he 
would  infer  that  Lafeu,  as  shown  by  his  family 
name,  is  a  relative  of  the  devil.  It  was  simply 
because  this  idea  occurred  to  him  that  Shake- 
speare wrote  the  passage  at  all.  He  started  out 
with  that  allusion  in  mind,  played  around  it 
for  the  fun  of  mystifying  Lafeu,  and  then  drove 
it  home  to  the  denser  heads  among  the  audience 
by  tacit  reference  to  a  fire,  twice  repeated. 

Notes  in  all  editions  of  Shakespeare  have 
centered  around  the  words  "an  English  name," 
and  "his  fisnomy  is  more  hotter,"  from  which 


94      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

we  have  the  conclusion  that  Shakespeare's  allu- 
sion "is  obviously  to  the  Black  Prince."  That 
is  to  say,  the  son  of  the  English  king,  Edward 
III,  defeated  the  French  at  the  battles  of  Crecy 
and  Poictiers;  and  this  is  held  to  be  the  expla- 
nation of  the  clown's  allusion  in  "an  English 
name"  which  is  "more  hotter  in  France"  than 
in  England. 

This  is  not  the  primary  allusion  at  all.  The 
clown  begins  by  saying  that  he  can  find  service 
with  "as  great  a  prince"  as  the  man  he  is  talking 
to,  and  when  Lafeu  inquires  who  that  prince 
may  be,  he  replies  that  he  has  an  English  name, 
meaning  simply  that  his  name  in  English  is  the 
Devil;  but  in  France  he  has  a  "hotter"  fisnomy 
or  name,  which  is,  of  course  Lafeu,  or  fire.  The 
reference  is  wholly  to  the  name  Lafeu  and  the 
fun  consists  in  the  clown's  calling  him  a  devil 
without  his  seeing  the  point. 

Hanmer,  not  being  able  to  see  how  "hotter" 
could  belong  in  this  passage,  emended  it  to 
honoured;  and  to  this  day  there  is  a  wavering 
inclination  to  this  conjecture  as  can  be  seen  by 
Gollancz's  note :  "Hanmers'  proposal ' honour' d' 
for  'hotter9  seems  to  be  a  most  plausible  emen- 
dation." 

In  the  First  Folio,  the  only  source  of  this 
play,  the  text  reads  "an  English  Maine."  It 
was  Rowe  who  corrected  it  to  name,  thinking 
however  that  the  allusion  was  to  the  "name" 
of  the  son  of  Edward  III.  Certain  zealous  ad- 
herents of  the  First  Folio  still  contend  that 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      95 

maine  is  correct,  explaining  that  in  English 
morality  plays  the  devil  was  a  "very  hairy  per- 
sonage"; therefore  the  reference  to  his  "mane." 
What  I  have  here  pointed  out  ought  to  settle 
all  doubt  regarding  these  moot  points  in  the 
text. 

If  further  proof  is  needed  we  have  but  to 
read  farther  along.  When  young  Bertram 
comes  home  from  the  wars  with  his  face  all 
scarred  up,  Lafeu  makes  mention  of  it,  where- 
upon the  Clown  makes  rejoinder:  — 

Lafeu.  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good  livery  of 
honour;  so  belike  is  that. 

Clown.     But  it  is  your  carbonadoed  face. 

Note  the  idea  of  fire  still  running  in  the 
clown's  mind  whenever  he  talks  to  Lafeu. 
"Carbonadoed"  =  Fr.  carbonnade,  from  the 
Latin  carbo,  a  coal,  meaning  carbonadoed  meat, 
which  was  slashed  or  scored  preparatory  to 
broiling.  When  the  Clown  addresses  Lafeu 
he  cannot  get  it  out  of  his  mind  that  his  name 
means  fire  and  that  a  man  with  such  a  hot  name 
must  be  related  to  the  devil.  The  intimation 
is  that  Bertram's  face  (who  was  none  too  moral 
a  liver)  was  all  ready  for  the  devil's  privy  kitch- 
en—  an  idea  that  we  have  again  in  "Henry 
IV"  regarding  Bardolph.  And  so  we  can  have 
no  further  mystery  as  to  whether  the  proper 
word  is  "name"  or  how  that  name  is  "hotter" 
in  .France  than  in  England. 


BEYOND  COMMISSION 

IN  the  "Winter's  Tale,"  Act  I,  Scene  2,  there 
occurs  a  long  passage  which  no  one  has  been 
able  to  read.  There  are  ten  lines  altogether, 
beginning  with  line  137.  It  is  of  signal  interest 
in  the  fact  that,  despite  all  effort,  it  yields  up 
no  certain  meaning  either  in  part  or  as  a  whole; 
it  is  totally  dark. 

Leontes,  king  of  Sicily,  is  speaking  to  his  little 
son  Mamillius  who  stands  beside  him: 

Most  dear'st!     My  collop!     Can  thy  dam?  —  may't  be?— - 

Affection!     thy  intention  stabs  the  centre; 

Thou  dost  make  possible  things  not  so  held, 

Communicat'st  with  dreams;  —  how  can  this  be?  — 

With  what's  unreal  thou  co-active  art, 

And  fellow'st  nothing.     Then  't  is  very  credent 

Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something;  and  thou  dost, 

And  that  beyond  commission,  and  I  find  it, 

And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brains 

And  hardening  of  my  brows. 

Furness  in  this  case  recommends  to  his  readers 
the  view  of  Collier  who  wrote:  —  "Not  one  of 
the  commentators,  ancient  or  modern,  has  con- 
curred with  another  in  the  poet's  meaning,  and 
there  can  be  little  hesitation  in  coming  to  the 
conclusion  that  mishearing,  misrecitation,  and 
misprinting  have  contributed  to  the  obscura- 
tion of  what,  possibly,  was  never  very  intelli- 
gible to  common  readers  or  auditors." 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE      97 

Furness  does  not  attempt  to  give  a  solution 
himself,  nor  does  he  see  enough  plausibility  in 
the  various  conjectures  upon  the  passage  to 
make  any  choice  between  them.  There  has, 
in  fact,  been  no  complete  solution  offered  — 
nothing  which  takes  up  every  word  and  line 
and  brings  forth  a  central  idea  which  fits  the 
play.  I  therefore  offer  the  following  explana- 
tion, which,  I  think,  proves  itself. 

In  these  obscure  lines,  Leontes  is  preparing 
his  mind  for  the  resolve  to  kill  his  wife.  He  is 
clearing  away  a  mental  obstacle;  and  he  does 
it  by  a  course  of  reasoning.  A  mental  obstacle 
must  be  overcome  by  mental  means. 

As  for  killing  Hermione,  he  has  not  the  least 
compunction  insofar  as  she  is  merely  his  wife. 
He  suspects  her  of  adultery  with  the  king  of 
Bohemia;  and  that  is  enough.  But  the  little 
boy  Mamillius  is  the  idol  of  his  soul,  the  apple 
of  his  eye  —  a  perfect  being  in  his  estimation. 
Hermione  is  the  boy's  mother;  she  produced 
this  perfect  good;  and  whenever  the  enraged 
Leontes  looks  upon  the  boy  he  sees  her  in  that 
light  and  his  resolve  to  kill  her  is  baffled.  More- 
over this  puts  a  new  light  on  his  deed.  Insofar 
as  she  is  his  own  wife,  he  is  responsible  to  him- 
self. But  in  doing  away  with  her  he  would  be 
killing  Mamillius'  mother;  and  there  he  feels 
himself  unable  to  give  the  command.  It 
touches  too  closely  upon  the  person  of  his  boy. 
Indeed,  for  him  to  pronounce  her  utterly  and 
wholly  bad  —  as  he  must  conclude  before  he 


98      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

can  feel  justified  in  ordering  her  death  —  offers 
a  difficulty  in  itself;  for  how  can  he  think  the 
mother  of  such  a  boy  utterly  bad  ?  He  cannot. 

Here  then  is  a  problem,  a  mental  difficulty 
to  be  overcome  if  possible.  Any  reader  who 
has  the  imagination  to  put  himself  in  Leontes' 
place  must  see  that  this  would  be  a  very  real 
and  genuine  mental  difficulty  —  it  would  be 
inevitable.  Any  true  reader  of  Shakespeare 
must  know  that  he  would  not  have  Leontes 
plunge  ahead  and  condemn  his  wife  to  death 
without  giving  any  thought  to  its  bearing  upon 
a  boy  so  idolized.  To  do  so  would  not  only  be 
untrue  to  life,  but  it  would  be  neglecting  an 
opportunity  for  showing  inner  turmoil  which 
makes  true  drama  —  a  thing  Shakespeare  never 
did.  Whatever  Shakespeare  did,  he  was  never 
forgetful  of  the  deeper  activities  of  human 
nature  which  make  a  story  vital.  We  have 
either  got  to  conclude  that  he  had  Leontes  decide 
to  kill  Hermione  deliberately,  but  without  the 
least  thought  of  his  boy's  relation  to  her,  or  else 
we  have  got  to  be  prepared  to  find  the  subject 
taken  up  in  these  lines,  for  it  certainly  occurs 
nowhere  else  in  the  play. 

Leontes'  mental  dilemma  was  a  hard  one  to 
deal  with.  How  is  he  to  overcome  this  inability 
utterly  to  condemn  and  kill  this  boy's  mother? 
Plainly,  there  is  but  one  way.  He  must  con- 
vince himself  that,  though  he  knows  her  to  be 
his  legitimate  parent,  she  is  not  his  parent  in 
any  deep  essential  way.  What  is  needed  is  a 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE      99 

point  of  view.  This  point  of  view  is,  after  all, 
not  far  to  be  gone  for  nor  farfetched  when 
brought  to  view;  for  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  can 
be  shown  with  perfectly  good  logic  that  Her- 
mione  is  not  the  boy's  mother  in  any  deep  sense 
—  he  does  not  take  after  her  in  any  way.  He 
is  another  Leontes  in  every  detail  of  feature 
and  disposition. 

At  great  length  (21  lines)  and  with  the  ut- 
most emphasis,  Shakespeare  has  preceded  this 
passage  with  a  course  of  thought  which  is  in- 
tended to  lead  up  to  and  enforce  upon  us  this 
necessary  point  of  view.  The  dramatist  is 
most  ingenious  in  the  little  natural  touches  by 
which  he  brings  forth  the  idea  which  he  wishes 
to  impress  us  with.  Leontes  sees  a  smudge  on 
the  little  boy's  nose  and  he  at  once  busies  him- 
self with  cleaning  off  that  nose  which  "is  a  copy 
out  of  mine."  This  is  simply  to  force  upon  the 
mind  of  the  audience  that  Mamillius  is  like  his 
father  in  every  physical  detail.  In  all,  they  are, 
even  in  public  repute,  as  Leontes  says,  "almost 
as  like  as  eggs."  This  point  of  view  at  much 
length  and  particularity  of  thought,  comes  im- 
mediately before  the  passage  in  question. 

Now,  immediately  after  the  dark  passage 
Shakespeare  takes  up  the  other  half  of  their 
resemblance  —  their  inner  selves.  Leontes,  to 
test  the  boy,  asks  him  a  question  which,  in 
Elizabethan  times,  savored  of  insult:  "Will  you 
take  eggs  for  money?"  At  once  the  little 
Mamillius  replies,  "No,  my  lord,  I'll  fight";  and 


IOO      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

as  this  is  just  what  the  father  would  do  in 
any  case  where  he  considered  himself  im- 
posed upon,  Leontes  is  delighted.  Not  only 
their  outer  features  but  their  dispositions  are 
the  same  —  the  boy  takes  after  him  and  not 
his  mother. 

Let  us  now  ask  ourselves  a  candid  question. 
And  if  we  are  willing  to  believe  that  Shakespeare 
was  a  great  organizer  of  material  in  view  of  the 
end  to  be  accomplished  —  without  which  sur- 
passing ability  he  would  not  be  a  great  drama- 
tist —  we  have  got  to  answer  accordingly.  If 
we  find  a  dark  passage  completely  surrounded, 
and  in  the  most  methodic  and  philosophic 
way,  with  the  one  point  of  view,  are  we  not  to 
conclude  that  the  dark  passage  has  something 
to  do  with  that  same  point  of  view?  It  comes 
between;  it  has  been  led  up  to  and  then  finally 
and  fundamentally  concluded.  The  introduc- 
tory point  of  view  is  that  Mamillius  is  not  like 
his  mother;  and  the  conclusion  is  a  still  deeper 
view  of  this  same  fact  —  it  is  all  one  course  of 
thought. 

In  view  of  this  systematic  work,  our  conclu- 
sion must  be  that  the  passage  does  have  a  mean- 
ing and  that  it  was  carefully  intended  to  be 
understood.  This  being  the  case  I  may  now 
state,  in  a  preliminary  way,  what  Leontes' 
course  of  reasoning  is  in  these  exclamatory  lines. 
His  point  of  view,  which  is  quite  simple  and,  in 
fact,  quite  logical,  is  as  follows. 

As  Mamillius  is  not  like  his  mother  in  any 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES  -IN    SHAKESPEARE       IOI 

way,  being  an  exact  reproduction  of  Leontes 
himself,  their  natures  have  nothing  in  common; 
and  as  she  transmitted  nothing  to  him  she  is 
not  his  mother  in  any  sense  that  needs  to  be 
seriously  regarded.  She  is  the  mere  matrix, 
the  purely  physical  means  by  which  another 
Leontes  was  produced.  A  mere  animal  func- 
tion, for  as  she  gave  him  nothing  of  his  soul  or 
features,  any  other  woman  would  have  served 
as  well.  Therefore  she  is  not  his  mother.  She 
is  a  mere  woman. 

There  is  something  strange  here,  Leontes 
ponders  —  something  exceeding  strange;  for 
how  is  a  soul  begotten?  He  begins  to  think 
deeply  upon  this  mystery.  Where  there  was 
but  one  inner  nature  like  himself  there  are  now 
two  —  another  soul  which  is  attuned  in  all  its 
workings  to  his  own!  With  what  mysterious 
source  did  he  communicate  to  woo  forth  from 
nature  that  mind  and  spirit  which  is  a  counter- 
part of  his  own  ?  Certainly  it  was  no  communi- 
cation with  her  that  did  it;  for  as  she  has 
nothing  of  that  nature  she  could  not  shape  it 
forth;  she  could  not  contribute  anything,  for 
the  boy  is  pure  Leontes.  She  could  not  con- 
ceive that  nature;  only  his  own  mind  could 
conceive  it.  With  what  mysterious  source, 
therefore,  he  asks  himself,  did  he  communicate; 
and  how  was  it  done?  His  answer  is  that  the 
boy,  that  essential  spirit,  came  simply  from  the 
secret,  central  source  in  nature  itself.  It  was 
his  yearning,  his  longing,  his  own  passionate 


102      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

soul-power  which  reached  out  and  called  forth 
a  being,  a  soul,  from  the  very  centre  of  life  it- 
self; and  that  soul,  being  the  result  of  his  own 
yearning  and  conception,  was  the  reproduction 
of  himself.  This  is  procreation  in  truth;  him- 
self and  nature.  In  very  truth  —  and  the  very 
image  and  deportment  of  the  boy  bear  witness 
to  the  fact  —  he  is  the  sole  parent  of  the  boy. 
The  woman  was  a  mere  medium  that  he  came 
through  —  what  he  calls,  in  his  revery,  the 
"sluice."  Once  he  saw  things  in  this  light 
Hermione  ceased  instantly  to  be  the  boy's 
mother  in  any  way  that  mattered.  At  that 
moment  the  difficulty  in  his  mind  was  over- 
come; he  saw  his  way  clear  to  accuse  and  kill 
her. 

This  a  strange  interpretation  of  these  lines, 
is  it  not?  It  sounds  rather  strained  and  in- 
genious, possibly?  Look  then  at  Leontes'  own 
state  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  whole  matter, 
"Can  thy  dam?  —  may't  be?  —  how  can  this 
be?  —  ".  He  is  in  a  mood  of  wonder  over  the 
whole  mystery;  therefore  our  interpretation 
of  the  lines,  if  they  were  merely  commonplace 
in  their  point  of  view,  could  hardly  be  true  to 
the  text  itself,  its  very  mood  and  circumstance. 
Thoughts  which  excite  wonder  in  the  speaker 
must  be  a  little  unusual  in  the  interpretation. 
He  thought  deeply  in  his  mental  dilemma; 
and  suddenly  this  whole  point  of  view  struck 
him  as  a  revelation.  It  took  him  by  surprise; 
he  followed  the  idea  eagerly;  and  this  is  the 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       103 

reason  that  the  lines  are  so  quick  and  fragmen- 
tary. 

Leontes  uses  the  word  "intention."  In 
Shakespeare's  time  intention  meant  aim\  it 
was  so  used  in  archery  to  designate  the  cen- 
tering of  the  mind  upon  the  target.  The  mys- 
terious source  of  life,  he  calls  "the  centre." 
This  is  a  figure  of  speech  which  does  not  relate 
to  archery  alone.  In  the  Ptolemaic  view  of 
astronomy,  which  was  held  in  Shakespeare's 
day,  the  whole  universe  was  supposed  to  re- 
volve around  the  centre  of  the  earth.  Some 
mysterious  power  in  that  central  point  of  the 
earth  held  the  spheres  in  their  appointed  places; 
it  was  the  very  soul  of  the  universe.  Leontes 
therefore  uses  it,  figuratively,  to  express  the 
central  source  or  essential  power  of  nature. 
Shakespeare  has  used  this  figure  in  other  places, 
as  in  the  Sonnets  where  he  calls  the  human  soul 
"the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth."  It  stands  for 
spirit  or  the  mysterious  source  as  opposed  to  the 
mere  material;  and  Leontes'  point  of  view  is  the 
same. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  take  up  the  pas- 
sage verbatim  and  put  our  interpretation  to  the 
strict  test.  Does  it  fit  every  word  and  sentence 
in  the  passage?  That  must  decide  the  matter. 
Before  we  start,  let  me  ask  the  reader  to  observe 
that  the  passage  does  not  advance  from  one 
reason  to  another,  by  logical  steps.  It  is  not 
a  gradually  reasoned-out  thing.  It  is  a  contin- 
ual repetition  of  the  same  thing  in  different  words 


IO4      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

and  from  different  points  of  view.  It  is  just 
the  one  sudden  idea  that  Leontes  has  and  he 
repeats  it  over  and  over;  therefore  I  must  deal 
repeatedly  with  the  one  idea  in  taking  up  the 
several  lines.  The  fact  that  the  passage  is  of 
this  peculiar  nature,  must,  I  think,  make  our 
knowledge  absolute;  for  I  hope  no  one  will 
give  me  credit,  in  point  of  ingenuity,  of  being 
so  skilful  a  word-twister  that  I  can  take  up 
any  long  set  of  lines  and  make  them  all  mean 
the  same  thing.  If  they  all  fit  the  idea  it  must 
be  because  Shakespeare  made  them  to  express 
that  idea. 

Sweet  villain! 
Mostdear'st!     mycollop!     Can  thy  dam?  —  may't  be?  — 

Here  the  whole  query  suddenly  strikes  Le- 
ontes' mind.  "Can  thy  dam? — "  is  his  unfin- 
ished question  to  himself;  it  is  broken  off  by 
the  depth  of  his  revery.  His  whole  question 
would  be:  Can  it  be  possible  that  your  mother 
(thy  dam)  has  had  any  real  part  in  the  produc- 
tion of  a  boy  who  is  totally  different  from  her- 
self? How  could  she,  by  any  powers  of  her 
own,  conceive  and  produce  my  nature? 

We  might  note  here  that  a  "collop"  was  a 
small  piece  of  meat  cut  off  another.  In  the 
present  connection  it  is  equivalent  to  calling 
the  boy  "a  chip  of  the  old  block."  Note  also 
that  Leontes  has  already  conceived  her  as  per- 
forming a  mere  animal  function  in  motherhood : 
he  uses  the  animal  term  for  mother  —  "dam." 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      105 

Here  follows  his  answer  to  this  query  five  times 
repeated. 

Affection!    thy  intention  stabs  the  centre. 

The  emphasis  should  come  strongly  on  "thy" 
and  "intention,"  meaning  that  the  boy's  nature 
was  begotten  by  the  intense  desire  and  passion- 
ate aim  of  his  own  nature;  it  was  this  intense 
desire  of  his,  and  nothing  else,  that  reached  out 
and  communicated  with  the  very  centre  and 
source  of  life  and  brought  a  Mamillius  forth. 
It  was  the  soul-power  of  his  own  "intention," 
not  anything  of  the  mere  physical  woman's 

nature  that  did  it. 

> 

Thou  dost  make  possible  things  not  so  held. 

We  must  remember  that  Affection  is  the  sub- 
ject of  all  these  sentences;  it  is  the  thing  he  is 
addressing,  abstractly,  throughout.  What  is 
generally  held  to  be  impossible  is  to  make 
something  out  of  nothing.  As  Mamillius  did 
not  receive  his  substance  from  his  father,  in  a 
material  sense,  nor  his  spirit  and  essential  na- 
ture from  his  mother,  his  soul  and  character 
came  into  being  through  nothing  but  Leontes' 
peculiar  powers  of  affection  reaching  out  to 
that  mysterious  centre  of  nature,  a  source  with- 
out substance,  and  bringing  a  Mamillius  forth. 
Therefore  this  strange  power  can  make  some- 
thing out  of  nothing:  it  "dost  make  possible 
things  not  so  held."  It  is  this  strange  paradox 
which  enchains  Leontes'  imagination  —  espe- 


IO6      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

cially  as  it  is  an  evident  fact  when  viewed  in  this 
way. 

With  what's  unreal  thou  co-active  art. 

This  is  simply  saying  the  same  thing.  He  is 
amplifying  it  in  other  ways  of  expression.  The 
"co-active"  makes  Shakespeare's  allusion  to 
the  act  of  procreation  most  definite  and  unmis- 
takable. "With  what's  unreal,"  means  source 
without  substance,  nothing  —  the  same  as 
before. 

And  fellow'st  nothing. 

It  is  driven  home  to  our  understanding  once 
again.  "Fellow'st"  is  a  choice  of  word  which 
still  has  a  view  to  procreation.  It  was  an  act 
between  himself  and  this  invisible  source;  the 
woman  was  a  mere  physical  interposition. 

He  has  now  stated  the  idea  to  himself  (and 
to  us)  in  a  variety  of  ways.  He  has  been  trying 
to  achieve  expression  of  this  peculiar  thing. 

Then  't  is  very  credent 
Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something. 

He  now  comes  to  a  triumphant  deduction. 
One  thing  has  been  in  his  mind  which  would 
seem  to  be  an  obstacle  to  his  conclusion  that 
Hermione  had  nothing  essential  to  do  with  the 
production  of  the  boy.  It  is  the  fact  that  she 
did  co-join.  But  this,  in  view  of  what  he  has 
already  reasoned,  makes  no  difference,  the  con- 
clusion being  as  follows.  If  the  begetting  of 
the  boy's  nature  was  accomplished  by  his  power 
of  "affection"  acting  upon  an  immaterial 
source,  the  mere  centre  or  principle  of  nature, 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       lO/ 

then  it  was  a  thing  entirely  apart  from  the  phys- 
ical or  material.  Therefore  'tis  very  credent 
that  he  might  co-join  with  something,  and  yet 
this  material  or  physical  something  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  essential  creation,  be- 
cause that  is  not  in  the  realm  of  the  mere  physical 
or  material.  In  other  words,  he  might  co-join 
with  Hermione  in  her  material  and  physical 
functions,  but  as  the  boy  is  not  of  mere  physical 
origin,  she  would  have  no  essential  part  in  his 
creation  as  a  human  soul.  "Tis  very  credent" 
he  says.  In  fact  it  is  perfectly  logical  from  the 
facts  of  the  case  and  the  premises  set  down. 
Thus  Hermione  is  totally  eliminated  from  any 
relationship  to  the  boy  except  in  a  mere  material 
sense.  The  word  "something"  here  is  used  in 
the  sense  of  a  material  body  or  thing,  as  op- 
posed to  nothing  out  of  which  a  human  soul  or 
nature  is  made. 

Then  't  is  very  credent 

Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something;  and  thou  dost 
And  that  beyond  commission. 

"Beyond  commission"  means  beyond  the 
commission  of  a  mere  physical  act.  He  co-joins 
with  something  material,  but  the  essential  act 
of  creation  is  in  a  realm  far  beyond  the  com- 
mission of  the  act  itself.  From  which  it  will 
be  seen  that  he  is  saying  the  same  thing  again. 

And  that  beyond  commission.     And  I  find  it  — 

The  emphasis  should  be  on  "I."  It  was  he, 
not  Hermione,  that  by  the  power  of  affection, 
the  intense  soul-passion  and  desire,  reached  out 


IO8      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

and  found  another  nature  like  himself  in  that 
realm  beyond  "something"  or  the  mere  mate- 
rial, beyond  "commission"  or  the  mere  commit- 
ting of  a  material  act.  The  whole  idea  is  here 
emphasized  again.  It  was  he  that  found  that 
soul,  not  Hermione. 

And  /  find  it, 

And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brains 
And  hardening  of  my  brows. 

This,  the  end  of  the  passage,  is  an  allusion 
to  a  current  term  for  cuckoldry  which  we  need 
not  go  into  as  it  is  not  a  part  of  the  course  of 
reasoning.  It  is  his  mere  conclusion  in  which 
he  now  turns  with  embittered  thought  to  Her- 
mione's  supposed  infidelity.  ;\ 

We  have  now  examined  this  long  passage 
internally,  and  with  regard  to  its  immediate 
context,  and  in  relation  to  the  plot  as  a  whole. 
As  Leontes  would  not  naturally  kill  Hermione 
without  some  thought  of  the  boy's  interests, 
her  relations  to  him,  we  see  that  some  such 
course  of  thought  is  an  essential  part  of  the  plot. 
This  play,  which  almost  ends  as  a  tragedy  and 
virtually  is  one,  has  for  its  most  tragic  inter- 
est the  condemning  of  Hermione  to  death. 
Leontes,  mad  with  suspicion  and  burning  for 
revenge,  finds  this  obstacle  to  his  action  — 
the  idea  of  her  motherhood  to  the  boy.  In 
this  sudden  mental  crisis,  a  storm  of  inner 
action  which  leaves  only  the  broken  fragments 
of  sentences  in  its  wake,  the  obstacle  disap- 
pears. From  this  point  the  fate  of  Hermione  is 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       109 

sealed  and  the  whole  course  of  tragic  experi- 
ence is  started.  This  passage  is  therefore  the 
very  pivot  on  which  the  plot  of  the  play  revolves. 

Staunton,  having  caught  correctly  at  the 
meaning  of  such  words  as  "co-join,"  seems  to 
be  the  only  critic  to  have  suspected  that  the 
passage  has  physiological  allusion.  He  ex- 
plains: "Leontes  asks,  'Can  it  be  possible  a 
mother's  vehement  imagination  should  pene- 
trate even  to  the  womb,  and  there  imprint 
upon  the  embryo  what  stamp  she  choose? 
Such  apprehensive  fantasy,  then,  he  goes  on 
to  say,  'we  may  believe  will  readily  co-join 
with  something  tangible,  and  it  does;  etc."1 
Staunton's  idea  of  its  significance  seems  to  be 
that,  as  Hermione  was  a  woman  of  strong  imag- 
ination, which  is  brought  out  by  the  fact  that 
Mamillius  bears  so  close  a  resemblance  to  his 
father,  she  might  easily  be  beguiled  into  an 
attachment  for  Polixenes.  While  this  is  an 
oceanwidth  from  the  idea,  it  shows  at  least 
that  he  had  an  inkling  of  the  meaning  of  certain 
words. 

Furness  gives  this  conjecture  short  shrift, 
saying,  rather  disdainfully,  "Are  we  to  believe 
that  the  betossed  soul  of  Leontes  is  here  inter- 
ested in  a  recondite  physiological  speculation?" 

To  a  man  who  did  not  catch  the  passage  as  a 
whole,  nor  understand  its  bearing  upon  the 
play  in  general,  this  physiological  interpreta- 
tion of  certain  words  must  certainly  have  seemed 
ridiculous. 


THE  CLEAREST  GODS 

Edgar.     . .  .  therefore,  thou  happy  father, 
Think  that  the  clearest  gods,  who  make  them  honours 
Of  men's  impossibilities,  have  preserved  thee. 

(King  Lear,  iv,  6,  72) 

THE  meaning  of  "clearest"  in  this  connec- 
tion is  a  point  which  remains  unconquered. 
Furness  submits  a  list  of  the  most  notable  con- 
jectures since  the  time  of  Theobald  and  Samuel 
Johnson  but  does  not  venture  to  suggest  that 
any  of  them  may  be  right. 

When  Shakespeare  is  so  extremely  logical 
that  he  begins  a  statement  with  therefore,  we 
may  be  warranted  in  saying  that  a  little  logical 
thought  was  expected  to  make  the  case  plain. 

The  "clearest"  gods  are,  and  always  have 
been,  those  that  perform  miracles.  As  man's 
conception  of  deity  is  liable  to  be  vague,  ab- 
stract and  uncertain,  the  god  that  deals  defi- 
nitely with  us  by  performing  a  miracle  makes 
himself  clearest  to  the  mind.  A  miracle  is  in 
the  nature  of  proof. 

The  trouble  here  is  that  critics  do  not  grasp 
the  one  great  thing  which  Shakespeare  has 
done  with  Gloucester  in  the  course  of  the  play. 

Gloucester,  by  being  made  to  suffer  to  the 
limit  of  human  endurance,  and  for  no  just 
reason  that  he  can  see,  loses  his  faith  in  an  over- 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       III 

i 

ruling  providence.  There  is  no  divine  care- 
taking;  no  higher  power  whose  deeper  wisdom 
we  may  depend  upon.  Nay  worse:  — 

As  flies  to  wanton  boys,  are  we  to  the  gods, 
They  kill  us  for  their  sport. 

This  was  Gloucester's  view;  and  the  best 
thing  to  do  in  such  a  world  was  to  take  your 
life  in  your  own  hands  and  die. 

This  is  in  Act  3.  In  Act  4  a  great  change 
has  come  over  him;  we  hear  him  say: 

You  ever  gentle  gods,  take  my  breath  from  me; 
Let  not  my  worser  spirit  tempt  me  again 
To  die  before  you  please. 

And  a  little  later  we  see  this  same  man 
standing  under  a  tree,  blind  and  helpless,  with 
worse  fortunes  still  piling  in  around  him.  But 
nothing  can  move  him  to  impatience  now;  he 
is  as  passive  as  the  tree  itself. 

What  was  it  that  made  such  a  change  in  him  ? 
It  was  what  he  saw  in  a  moment  when  this 
remark  about  "the  clearest  gods"  was  made  to 
him.  Right  at  that  instant  the  great  trans- 
formation in  his  soul  was  wrought,  and  by  those 
few  words.  If  we  do  not  understand  the 
cliff  scene  as  leading  up  to  the  climax  in  these 
words  we  have  missed  a  whole  section  of  the 
play. 

Edgar  led  his  blind  father  to  a  place  on  the 
flat  plain  and  made  him  believe  he  was  stand- 
ing on  the  very  edge  of  Dover  cliff.  Then  he 
pretended  to  go  away,  knowing  that  the  aged 
and  life-weary  man  would  take  the  leap  from 


112      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

what  he  supposed  to  be  an  awful  height.  Edgar 
did  this  because  the  deep  eye  of  love  showed 
him  what  had  happened  to  his  father  more 
serious  than  even  the  loss  of  his  eyes.  Glouces- 
ter had  lost  his  faith.  And  the  only  way  this 
could  be  at  once  restored  was  by  a  miracle. 
Accordingly,  when  Gloucester  took  the  leap  and 
fell  flatlong,  Edgar  ran  to  him  and  in  altered 
voice  made  him  believe  that  he  had  really 
fallen  from  that  dizzy  height  but  had  been 
made  to  come  off  without  injury.  The  watch- 
ful gods  had  done  it;  they  had  interposed  to 
save  him  by  a  miracle.  From  that  moment 
to  the  end  of  the  tragedy  no  suffering  is  too 
great  for  Gloucester  patiently  to  endure.  He 
had  lost  his  bodily  vision,  but  the  eyesight  of 
his  soul  had  been  restored.  He  believed;  and 
the  deep  inner  havoc  was  mended.  There  is 
not  in  all  literature  —  there  could  not  be  —  a 
scene  so  beautiful  as  this  cliff  episode  when  we 
understand  it.  The  son,  with  deep  insight  of 
the  state  of  affairs,  contrives  to  heal  his  father's 
maimed  soul.  He  has  given  him  back  his 
faith. 

Nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  a  man  who 
jumped  off  the  edge  of  Dover  cliff;  and  none 
but  the  gods  can  perform  a  miracle :  — 

therefore,  thou  happy  father 

Think  that  the  clearest  gods,  who  make  them  honours 
Of  men's  impossibilities,  have  preserved  thee. 

The  watchful  gods,  in  whom  Gloucester  had 
ceased  to  believe,  are  thus  made  clear  to  him. 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE       113 

And  Edgar  calls  him  "happy"  because  he  feels 
that  though  worldly  losses  may  not  be  righted, 
the  man  has  been  given  something  worth  having. 

The  "clearest  gods"  are  simply  those  gods 
"who  make  them  honours  of  men's  impossi- 
bilities, "  or  in  other  words  those  who  perform 
miracles  for  human  edification.  Shakespeare 
has  defined  the  word  himself;  the  two  phrases 
are  synonymous.  This  pronouncement  is  the 
climax  of  the  whole  episode;  and,  as  I  have 
repeatedly  shown,  Shakespeare  is  careful  to 
define  by  reiteration  the  meanings  that  are  of 
great  import.  In  fact,  a  large  proportion  of 
these  so-called  cruxes,  where  typographical 
error  is  suspected,  are  simply  climactic  passages; 
and  because  they  are  the  high  points  of  an 
inner  tragedy  —  of  happenings  to  the  mind  and 
soul  themselves  —  they  involve  a  point  of  view. 
It  is  because  they  involve  a  point  of  view  that 
Shakespeare  expresses  them,  not  in  common- 
place and  worn  phrases,  but  in  words  funda- 
mentally selected  to  force  the  point  of  view  upon 
us.  A  miracle,  fundamentally,  is  to  make  god 
clear  to  those  who  do  not  believe.  If  we  miss 
what  is  being  said  here  we  miss  a  whole  impor- 
tant section  of  the  play. 

It  will  now  be  worth  a  few  moments'  time  to 
observe  a  certain  point  of  art  in  tfre  handling 
of  this  whole  episode.  From  the  time  Edgar 
takes  his  father's  arm,  at  the  end  of  Scene  I, 
Act  iv,  and  starts  out  for  the  cliff,  we  are  not 
given  the  least  hint  of  what  his  intentions  are. 


114      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

We  see  them  arrive  at  a  place  on  the  plain;  we 
watch  with  interest  and  possibly  a  smile  as 
Edgar  describes  the  locality  in  imaginary  de- 
tails; and  finally  we  see  him  place  the  blind 
Gloucester  on  the  supposed  verge  and  formally 
leave  him,  calling  back  to  prove  that  he  has 
gone.  All  this  time  there  is  not  the  least 
mention  of  a  miracle.  Only  at  the  last  moment, 
when  Gloucester  is  about  to  pray,  and  this 
trifling  with  his  belief  might  excite  the  resent- 
ment of  the  audience,  does  Edgar  give  any 
hint  that  he  has  an  object  in  all  this.  And 
then  he  merely  says,  in  an  aside  to  the  audience: 
"Why  I  do  trifle  thus  with  his  despair,  is  done 
to  cure  it"  —  but  with  no  indication  of  what 
the  nature  of  that  cure  is  going  to  be.  This 
is  all  held  in  the  realm  of  curiosity  and  suspense 
so  that  the  revelation  may  fall  with  the  greater 
weight  when  it  suddenly  comes  out.  Neither 
the  word  miracle,  nor  the  idea  of  it,  is  given  us. 
The  whole  explanation  of  the  scene  and  its 
deeper  motives  are  made  to  rest  on  those  two 
lines.  It  is  important  therefore  that  we  should 
understand  them. 

I  here  append  a  few  of  the  principal  con- 
jectures. Note  how  the  critics  try  to  arrive  at 
meanings  by  mere  verbal  means. 

THEOBALD:  That  is,  open  and  righteous  in 
their  dealing.  So  in  Timon,  iv,  iii,  27,  "Ye 
clear  heavens." 

JOHNSON:  The  purest;  the  most  free  from 
evil. 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE       115 

CAPELL:  It  may  have  the  sense  of  clear- 
sighted, given  with  some  reference  to  the  im- 
position on  Gloucester,  his  weak  belief  of 
his  bastard. 

WHITE:  The  sense  of  the  context,  and  the 
great  similarity  in  manuscript  between  cl  and 
dy  make  it  more  than  possible  that  the  correct 
reading  here  is  dearest.  Yet  by  such  a  change 
we  should  lose  the  fine  opposition  of  "clearest" 
and  "impossibilities." 

SCHMIDT  says  that  bright,  pure,  glorious  are 
all  contained  in  the  word  "clear." 

Furness  does  not  offer  a  solution. 


THE   FAIRIES'    RINGLETS 

Titania.     These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy; 
And  never  since  the  middle  summer's  spring 
Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest  or  mead, 
By  paved  fountain  or  by  rushy  brook, 
Or  in  the  beached  margent  of  the  sea, 
To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind, 
But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturbed  our  sport. 

(Midsummer  Night,  ii,  i,  86) 

W.  A.  WRIGHT,  in  annotating  this  passage  in 
the  Cambridge  edition,  explained  these  "ring- 
lets" as  being  the  same  as  Titania's  "orbs  upon 
the  green"  which  are  mentioned  a  few  lines 
before;  that  is,  the  little  circles  of  grass  known 
as  fairy  rings. 

Furness,  in  getting  out  the  Variorum,  found 
a  considerable  difficulty  with  Wright's  note. 
Ringlets  of  grass  do  not  grow  upon  the  beached 
margent  of  the  sea.  As  the  only  way  out  of 
the  difficulty  he  decided  that  the  fairies  danced 
upon  the  sandy  beach  for  the  sake  of  letting 
the  wind  blow  through  their  hair. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  pronounce  this  view 
ridiculous  —  which  it  certainly  must  be  to 
anyone  with  a  literary  sense  of  humor  —  but  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  objection  is 
perfectly  valid.  Shakespeare  was  so  pains- 
taking in  every  line  and  had  such  vivid  con- 
ceptions of  everything  he  wrote  that  it  is 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       117 

impossible  to  conceive  him  as  speaking  of  rings 
of  grass  on  the  blank  "margent"  of  the  sea. 
As  Furness  says,  "The  fairy  rings  ' whereof  the 
ewe  not  bites'  are  found  where  the  grass  grows 
green  in  pastures,  but  not  by  the  paved  foun- 
tain nor  by  rushy  brook,  and  never  in  the 
beached  margent  of  the  sea,  on  those  yellow 
sands  where  of  all  places,  from  Shakespeare's 
day  to  this,  fairies  foot  it  featly  and  toss  their 
gossamer  ringlets  to  the  whistling  and  the 
music  of  the  wind." 

How  are  we  to  straighten  out  this  profound 
question  ? 

We  have  got  to  start  by  remarking  that 
Wright  and  Furness  are  both  wrong:  these 
"ringlets"  are  neither  circles  of  grass  nor 
ringlets  of  hair. 

The  orbs  or  circles  of  grass  in  the  meadow 
are  the  result  of  the  fairies'  having  danced  there. 
They  are  not  pre-existent  circles  of  grass  which 
the  fairies  dance  round.  Shakespeare  evidently 
had  a  perfect  understanding  of  this :  — 

you  demi-puppets  that 

By  moonshine  do  the  green  sour  ringlets  make 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites.  —  Tempest,  v,  i,  37. 

Fairies  dance  in  circles;  they  have  an  all- 
hands-round  way  of  disporting  themselves  in 
their  moonlight  revels;  and  in  their  footsteps 
spring  up  these  circles  of  grass  in  the  pasture. 
Now,  inasmuch  as  fairies  can  dance  wherever 
they  please,  whether  in  the  pasture  or  by  the 
rushy  brook  or  in  the  beached  margent  of  the 


Il8      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

sea,  it  is  evident  they  are  going  to  do  so;  and 
if  the  soil  does  not  happen  to  be  fertile  enough 
to  bring  up  grass  in  their  footsteps,  what  care 
they?  The  point  is  that  these  "ringlets"  are 
simply  the  circles  in  which  they  danced.  We 
are  here  supposed  to  get  a  live  picture  of  the 
little  people  themselves.  If  a  large  circle  is 
a  ring  a  little  circle  is  a  ringlet;  and  the  diminu- 
tive gives  an  impression  of  the  smallness  of 
the  fairies. 


STILL-PEERING  AIR 

O  you  leaden  messengers, 
That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 
Fly  with  false  aim;  move  the  still-peering  air 
That  sings  with  piercing. 

(All's  Well,  iii,  2,  113) 

"  Still-peering,  adj.  a  doubtful  word."  (Globe  glossary) 

"  Still-peering,  that  seems  to  be  motionless  ?   A  doubtful  word." 

(Neilson,  1906) 

"Still-peering  air;  so  Folio  i;  Folio  2,  *  still-piercing';  prob- 
ably an  error  for  still-piecing;  i.e.  still-closing." 

(Gollancz) 

CONJECTURE  on  this  famous  difficulty  began 
with  Warburton  and  his  contemporaries,  but 
as  none  of  the  many  suggestions  have  proved 
self-evident  or  plausible  it  is  now  considered  a 
hopeless  crux.  During  the  past  century  Steev- 
ens'  "still-piecing"  has  been  most  favored 
while  still  remaining  a  mere  conjecture.  That 
"still"  means  always  or  ever,  according  to 
Shakespeare's  usage,  is  generally  recognized; 
the  perplexity  is  in  regard  to  peering. 

"Peering"  as  here  used  is  a  verb  form  of 
the  noun  peer,  meaning  an  equal.  In  war 
(the  present  connection)  a  man's  peer  would 
be  one  whom  he  could  not  overcome.  "Still- 
peering  air"  means  that  the  air,  despite  the 


120      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

leaden  missiles  that  pierce  it,  is  ever  uncon- 
quered,  always  unvanquished  —  invulnerable. 

If  we  have  any  familiarity  with  Shake- 
speare we  must  soon  learn  that  he  had  certain 
poetic  conceptions  which  his  mind  kept  in 
stock,  as  it  were,  and  which  he  made  repeated 
use  of.  Ariel  says  to  the  shipwrecked  noble- 
men: 

Wound  the  loud  winds  or  with  bemocked-at  stabs 
Kill  the  still-closing  waters. 

In  "Hamlet,"  Marcellus  says: 

For  it  is,  as  the  air,  invulnerable, 

And  our  vain  blows  malicious  mockery. 

Again,  in  the  same  play: 

his  poisoned  shot  may  miss  our  name 
And  hit  the  woundless  air. 

In  "Macbeth"  we  have: 

As  easy  may'st  thou  the  intrenchant  air 

With  thy  keen  sword  impress,  as  make  me  bleed. 

In  the  "Tempest"  this  invulnerability  of  the 
air  is  given  a  humorous  turn: 

So  full  of  valor  that  they  smote  the  air. 

The  above  is  sufficient  to  show  us  that  the 
idea  which  my  interpretation  would  observe  is 
one  —  in  fact  it  is  the  one  —  which  would  be 
natural  to  Shakespeare's  mind.  But  now  re- 
mains the  whole  question:  Is  this  what  he 
means  here?  Would  Shakespeare  take  the 
noun  peer,  look  at  it  from  the  standpoint  of 
war  as  being  one  who  could  not  be  vanquished, 


SOME  TEXTUAL    DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      121 

and  then  use  it  in  the  verb  form?    To  this  we 
must  reply  that  it  is  utterly  Shakespearean. 

In  the  beginning  of  "The  Merchant  of  Ven- 
ice" we  have  a  description  of  Antonio's  mer- 
chant fleets,  which 

Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  on  the  flood 

Do  overpeer  the  petty  traffickers, 

That  curtsey  to  them,  do  them  reverence. 

Note  the  connection  in  order  to  get  the  exact 
sense  of  "overpeer."  Signiors  and  rich  burgh- 
ers, which  the  ships  are  like,  are  superior 
citizens,  they  are  like  peers  of  the  realm,  in 
which  sense  they  overpeer  the  inferior  citizens 
who  curtsey  to  them. 

In  "Cymbeline"  the  two  princes  are  de- 
scribed. We  learn  that  even  though  their 
position  and  birth  were  entirely  laid  aside,  the 
greatest  men 

Could  not  outpeer  these  twain. 

In  both  these  cases  we  have  the  noun  peer 
used  in  verb  form.  And  so,  if  a  man  who  peers 
another  equals  him,  and  one  who  out-peers  or 
overpeers  another  more  than  equals  him,  we 
may  say  that  they  are  peering  or  outpeering 
or  overpeering  in  the  sense  of  exercising  equality 
or  superiority.  And  so  "still-peering"  air 
regards  the  atmosphere  as  always  and  ever  the 
equal  of  these  leaden  missiles  of  war  —  incon- 
querable,  invulnerable. 

We  see  therefore  that  the  line  expresses  an 
idea  that  fits  the  general  connection  and  from 


122      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

a  point  of  view  which  was  native  to  Shake- 
speare's mind;  and  it  does  it  in  words  which 
are  according  to  his  usage  in  other  places. 
With  this  explanation  the  passage  should  be  as 
open  to  sense  as  any  the  commonest  and 
plainest  English  that  Shakespeare  ever  wrote. 


THE  NATURE  OF  CAPITAL 

Captain.    Truly  to  speak,  and  with  no  addition, 
We  go  to  gain  a  little  patch  of  ground 
That  hath  in  it  no  profit  but  the  name. 
To  pay  five  ducats,  five,  I  would  not  farm  it. 

(Hamlet,  iv,  4,  20) 

THE  usual  explanation  of  this  line  is  that 
the  second  "five"  is  a  mere  repetition  for  the 
sake  of  emphasis.  Editors  generally,  past  and 
present,  punctuate  according  to  this  inter- 
pretation.] 

But  this  is  not  the  meaning.  Shakespeare 
is  here  striking  deeper  into  the  nature  of  things. 
It  is  the  very  nature  of  money  to  have  other 
money  owing  to  it;  first,  the  original  amount 
invested,  and  then  something  over.  When 
you  take  five  ducats  and  put  it  into  some  enter- 
prise, your  capital  has  the  same  amount  owing 
to  it  plus  a  profit.  Your  five  ducats  stand  in 
your  accounts  as  a  sum  of  money  to  which  an 
equal  amount  is  owing  on  its  own  behalf  to- 
gether with  something  over  for  yourself.  There- 
fore to  make  an  investment  with  no  result  but 
to  pay  five  ducats  five  would  be  the  reductio 
absurdum  of  investment;  it  would  be  simply  to 
take  pains  without  profit.  This  then  is  what  the 
line  means  and  the  way  it  should  be  printed  — 
to  pay  five  ducats  five. 


124      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN    SHAKESPEARE 

The  Captain  is  not  only  saying  this  but  he 
is  rating  the  land  still  lower;  he  would  not 
even  expect  to  come  out  of  the  transaction  by 
paying  his  five  ducats  their  five;  in  other 
words  the  land  would  be  farmed  at  a  loss.  It 
might  very  well  have  been  said  in  just  those 
words;  but  Shakespeare,  as  usual,  not  merely 
says  it  but  does  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  strike 
into  the  very  nature  and  philosophy  of  the 
thing. 

The  generally  accepted  interpretation  not 
only  misses  this  but  has  the  Captain  say  the 
wrong  thing  and  do  it  very  awkwardly.  He 
is  supposed  to  be  saying  that  he  would  not 
undertake  to  farm  it  to  make  a  total  profit  of 
five  ducats;  and  to  be  repeating  the  five  simply 
to  impress  that  amount  on  Hamlet's  mind. 
Hence  the  present  way  of  punctuating.  But 
this  is  to  miss  the  whole  sense  and  spirit  of  the 
line. 

The  line  should  be  printed  without  the 
commas  before  and  after  five;  it  is  a  straight- 
away English  sentence  which  drives  directly 
at  its  meaning.  Shakespeare  does  not  indulge 
in  such  weak  emphasis  nor  halt  and  boggle 
a  line  over  a  point  so  futile  and  insignificant. 


THE  CHESS  PLAYERS 

The    entrance    of   the   cell    opensy    and    discovers    Ferdinand 

and  Miranda  playing  at  chess. 
Mira.     Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 
Ferd.  No,  my  dear'st  love. 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

Mira.     Yes,  for  a  score  of  kingdoms  you  should  wrangle, 
And  I  would  call  it  fair  play. 

(The  Tempest  V,  I,  170) 

CLOSE  thought  upon  the  possible  significance 
of  Miranda's  remark  has  only  led  critics  and 
editors  deeper  into  the  darkness  of  an  unsolv- 
able  passage.  The  words  usually  selected  for 
textual  notes  are,  "you  should  wrangle/' 
Speculation  is  divided  as  to  whether  she  is 
saying  that  he  ought  to  wrangle  and  she  would 
call  it  fair  play,  or  whether  she  means  that  if 
he  did  wrangle  she  would  call  it  fair  play; 
and  there  is  indecision  as  to  what  she  means, 
exactly,  by  wrangle.  Hudson  says,  "The 
sense  evidently  wanted  here  is,  'you  might 
play  me  false'',  but  how  to  get  this  out  of 
wrangle,  is  not  very  apparent."  He  then  takes 
up  a  theory  that  as  wrangle  is  derived  from 
wrong,  and  the  north  of  England  has  the  ex- 
pression wrangously  for  wrongfully,  the  word 
wrangle  in  this  passage  is  "an  explanatory 
parallelism  of  Miranda's  'play  me  false'  and 
means  wrong  me,  —  cheat  me  at  the  game." 


126      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Johnson,  as  cited  by  Furness,  says:  "I  take 
the  sense  to  be  only  this;  Ferdinand  would 
not,  he  says,  play  her  false  for  the  world;  yes, 
answers  she,  I  would  allow  you  to  do  it  for 
something  less  than  the  world,  for  twenty 
kingdoms,  and  I  wish  you  well  enough  to 
allow  you,  after  a  little  wrangle,  that  your 
play  was  fair."  Furness  pointed  out  the  in- 
consistency of  this:  —  "It  is  not  at  once  mani- 
fest whether  *  score*  here  is  account,  game  or 
the  number  twenty,  but  in  either  case,  I  think, 
we  should  expect  that  Miranda,  in  order  to 
show  her  boundless  faith  and  love,  would  ex- 
aggerate Ferdinand's  vaunt  and  not  diminish 
it  as  she  does,  according  to  Mr.  Smith  and 
Dr.  Johnson." 

While  this  shows  the  unsatisfactoriness  of 
taking  the  passage  in  such  a  sense,  Mr.  Furness 
did  not  offer  a  solution. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  trouble  here  is  not 
one  of  this  word  or  that,  for  they  are  all  per- 
fectly familiar,  nor  of  a  particular  phrase  nor 
yet  any  doubtful  grammatical  construction. 
What  is  wanted  is  an  insight  of  the  spirit  in 
which  the  lovers  are  speaking  throughout. 
If  we  ask  what  Miranda  means  in  this  remark, 
why  do  we  not  go  further  and  inquire  what 
she  means  by  saying  "Sweet  lord,  you  play 
me  false."  Was  Ferdinand  cheating?  If  so, 
what  sort  of  ideal  lover  is  he,  and  how  has  his 
character  changed  so  utterly  of  a  sudden?  If 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       I2/ 

he  was  not  playing  her  false,  what  does  she 
mean  by  saying  he  is?  Is  she  just  doing  this 
for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  deny  it  and 
declare  his  devotion?  If  she  was  so  politic  a 
coquette  here  she  is  certainly  not  the  utterly 
sincere  and  frank  Miranda  we  have  learned  to 
take  pleasure  in. 

The  question  should  be:  What  does  this 
whole  scene  mean?  Why  did  Shakespeare 
write  it  at  all?  What  was  his  object?  The 
solution  consists  in  pointing  out  the  whole 
dramatic  scheme  of  the  author  when  he  in- 
vented the  scene. 

When  Shakespeare  sat  down  to  write  this 
he  had  come  to  the  fifth  act  of  "The  Tempest"; 
and  almost  the  end  of  the  act.  The  characters 
have  all  gone  through  their  strange  experience; 
deep  lessons  have  been  taught,  past  wrongs 
retributed  and  the  fond  lover  tried;  the  magic 
wand  has  been  discarded  and  Ariel  is  all  done 
except  for  a  slight  remaining  service.  It  is 
really  the  end  of  the  play  with  only  a  formal 
conclusion  to  be  observed. 

At  this  point,  Shakespeare  wished  to  give 
us  a  final  glimpse  of  the  happy  lovers;  and  he 
wanted  to  do  it  in  some  short  climactic  way 
which  would  give  us  the  deepest  and  most 
delighted  insight  of  perfect  unselfish  love. 
How  would  he  contrive  to  do  it?  With  only 
blank  paper  before  him,  and  in  his  usual  mood 
of  close  scrutiny  into  human  nature,  he  sat 
and  thought  it  over.  When  he  was  through 


128       SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

he  had  done  it  in  five  lines;    and  here  is  what 
the  audience  saw: 

The  entrance  to  the  cave  or  cell  being  un- 
covered, Miranda  and  Ferdinand  were  seen 
within  at  a  game  of  chess.  Pawns,  knights, 
castles,  bishops  in  their  respective  colors  were 
prominent  on  the  board;  and  (what  an  au- 
dience would  take  account  of  at  once)  they  were 
mostly  in  Miranda's  possession.  Miranda  was 
winning.  And  now  we  hear  her  say : 

Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

In  other  words,  Ferdinand  was  deliberately 
giving  the  game  away  to  her. 
He  answers: 

No,  my  dearest  love, 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  not  playing  her 
false.  So  utter  is  his  unselfishness  toward  her, 
so  far  removed  from  his  mind  is  any  thought 
but  that  of  giving  where  she  is  concerned,  that 
he  has  actually  been  helping  her  to  win  and 
taking  pleasure  every  time  a  move  was  in  her 
favor. 

But  a  game  is  of  such  a  nature  that  it  will 
not  go  on  under  such  conditions  —  it  will  not 
be  a  game.  A  game  is  in  the  nature  of  a 
contest,  and  there  must  at  least  be  a  mimic 
desire  to  gain  the  victory  and  leave  the  other 
person  the  loser.  Miranda,  knowing  by  the 
promptings  of  her  own  soul  what  the  difficulty 
is,  sees  that  he  must,  in  order  to  be  desirous 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       129 

of  winning,  stir  his  mind  with  a  lively  imagina- 
tion of  tremendous  stakes.  And  so  she  stirs 
him  up: 

Yes,  for  a  score  of  kingdoms  you  should  wrangle,  — 

And  then  she  adds  (tell-tale  words  that 
show  us  she  is  just  as  pleased  to  lose  to  him  as 
he  is  to  her)  — 

And  I  would  call  it  fair  play. 

By  wrangle,  she  means  contest  by  every 
means  in  his  power,  and  whatever  means  he 
took  to  win  she  would  call  it  fair.  In  short, 
these  two  cannot  really  play  a  game;  their 
thoughts  are  all  of  love,  and  it  consists  only 
of  unselfishness  and  joy  in  the  other's  success. 
They  have  only  been  playing  because  each 
thought  it  would  give  pleasure  to  the  other. 

In  no  way  I  can  think  of  would  it  be  possible 
to  put  such  unique  and  telling  emphasis,  in 
short,  upon  the  thing  Shakespeare  wished  to 
show.  The  fundamental  psychology  of  a  game 
is  love  of  a  contest,  victory  and  gain.  To  this 
engaged  couple,  in  the  first  new  joy  of  self- 
abnegating  love,  all  this  is  just  the  opposite; 
and  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  game  was  all 
going  contrary  to  what  it  ought  and  that 
Miranda  had  to  suggest  tremendously  big 
measures  to  make  it  be  a  real  'game.  Its 
dramatic  merit  consists  in  the  fact  that  it 
would  deliver  its  message  instantly  and  thor- 
oughly in  an  unique  and  interesting  way. 


I3O      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

It  would  amuse  the  audience.  And  the  loca- 
tion of  all  the  paraphernalia  of  victory,  in  con- 
nection with  her  opening  remark,  would  make 
any  profound  interpretation  unnecessary  to 
the  Elizabethan  audience. 


CLEOPATRA'S  ANSWER 

Cleo.     Be  it  known,  that  we,  the  greatest,  are  misthought 
For  things  that  others  do;  and,  when  we  fall, 
We  answer  others'  merits  in  our  name, 
hud  Are  therefore  to  be  pitied. 

(Antony  and  Cleopatra  v,  2,  176) 

THESE  words,  in  the  last  scene  of  the  last  act 
of  the  play,  are  Cleopatra's  final  declaration  to 
Caesar.  After  this  we  see  her  but  for  a  short 
space  with  the  clown  and  her  ladies;  and  then 
her  death. 

As  will  be  seen,  the  passage  does  not  make 
complete  sense.  As  we  gather  its  meaning, 
the  sentence  refuses  to  carry  itself  farther 
than  the  word  name,  after  which  there  is  a 
detached  remainder  of  words  which  we  scarcely 
know  what  to  do  with.  The  only  way  to  get 
around  the  difficulty  is  to  assume  that  We  is 
to  be  understood  before  the  last  line.  This  is 
the  basis  upon  which  it  is  accepted  in  the  most 
scholarly  modern  editions.  The  above  punc- 
tuation is  that  of  the  Globe. 

Accepting  it  upon  this  basis,  we  see  that  the 
last  line  is  a  sentence  by  itself;  a  full  stop  is 
to  be  understood  after  name.  Neilson  (1906), 
in  order  to  make  the  punctuation  fit  the 
approved  interpretation  of  the  sense,  approxi- 
mates the  period  by  using  a  semi-colon;  usually 


132      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

the  difficulty  is  slubbered  over  with  a  comma 
in  order  to  rest  upon  the  authority  of  the  First 
Folio. 

Turning  now  our  attention  to  the  sense,  we 
see  in  Cleopatra's  first  statement  that  persons 
in  high  positions  are  blamed  for  misdeeds  and 
errors  committed  by  those  under  them.  This 
is  plain;  but  upon  reading  farther  what  does 
the  word  merits  mean  here?  Does  it  mean 
those  same  misdeeds  and  errors  ?  —  or  to  stick 
more  strictly  to  the  text,  do  "merits"  in  the 
underlings  mean  these  things  which  make  a 
queen  misthought?  Commentators,  including 
Furness,  accept  it  in  that  sense.  In  no  other 
way  can  they  carry  a  connected  meaning  as 
far  as  the  understood  "We." 

Another  source  of  dissatisfaction,  to  me,  is 
that  if  this  is  the  meaning  of  the  passage  as  a 
whole,  then  the  words  "others'  merits  in  our 
name"  are  superfluous.  As  much  would  have 
been  said  without  them;  and  as  we  know, 
Shakespeare  usually  makes  progress  in  every 
word  with  a  giant's  stride.  Was  he  so  redun- 
dant here?  I  also  find  that  he  never  uses  merits 
in  that  derogatory  sense  in  the  whole  course  of 
his  work. 

The  whole  trouble  here  is  an  incomplete  per- 
ception of  what  Cleopatra  is  saying.  We 
should  put  a  period  after  answer;  then  the 
passage  will  fit  her  meaning  —  aside  from  the 
great  improvement  in  the  dramatic  poetry 
from  the  standpoint  of  vocal  rendition. 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       133 

Just  previous  to  this  passage,  an  incident  has 
occurred  by  which  the  captive  Queen,  now  re- 
duced to  the  rank  of  mere  woman,  has  been 
greatly  humiliated.  She  has  just  handed  over 
to  Ca3sar  thejist^of  her  jewels  and  other  wealth, 
declaring,  at  the  same  time,  that  she  has  re- 
served nothing  of  any  considerable  value.  And, 
to  impress  upon  him  the  truth  of  her  statement, 
she  refers  him  to  her  treasurer,  Seleucas. 

But  Seleucas!  This  man,  who  owes  her 
loyalty  and  gratitude,  lets  it  be  known  in  a  few 
words  that  what  she  has  said  is  not  true  at  all. 
She  has  reserved  fully  half  her  wealth  —  plate 
and  jewels.  Cleopatra  has  told  a  fib.  To  make 
it  worse  she  has  been  caught  in  it  by  the  very 
means  she  had  taken  to  make  it  valid  —  hence 
the  blush.  But  does  [she  weakly  succumb  to 
this  mischance  or  acknowledge  herself  caught? 
Not  at  all.  Having  vented  the  anger  of  a 
wronged  queen  upon  her  unworthy  subject, 
and  told  Caesar  with  charming  assumption  of 
her  high  station  that  these  valuable  things  were 
but  "lady  trifles,"  she  makes  that  final  declara- 
tion which  begins  so  strikingly : 

Be  it  known,  that  we,  the  greatest,  are  misthought 
For  things  that  others  do;  and  when  we  fall 
We  answer. 

This  general  statement  resounds  like  a  royal 
proclamation:  Be  it  known.  The  great  are 
misjudged  all  their  lives.  Having  made  this 
statement  she  proceeds  with  the  logical  corol- 
lary. Seleucas  had  betrayed  his  fallen  queen 


134      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

because  he  hoped  to  recommend  himself  to 
Caesar.  He  saw  himself  out  of  office,  and,  look- 
ing for  new  preferment,  he  thought  that  this 
truth-telling  would  seem  a  merit  in  Caesar's 
eyes. 

Others'  merits  in  our  name 
Are  therefore  to  be  pitied. 

It  is  well  argued.  If  we  great  ones  have  to 
answer  for  all  the  misdeeds  of  others,  it  is  a 
shame  and  a  pity  that,  when  we  have  fallen, 
they  should  assume  merits  at  our  expense. 
That  is  to  say,  at  the  expense  of  her  good  name; 
hence  "in  our  name." 

Furness  understands  Cleopatra's  conclusion 
to  mean  that  "from  the  eminence  of  our  posi- 
tion, therefore,  we  are  to  be  pitied."  But 
Cleopatra  is  talking  about  something  more  than 
simply  that.  The  present  condition  of  these 
lines  is  due  to  a  failure  to  see  that  she  has  any 
reference  to  Seleucas.  She  is  dealing  with  the 
case  in  hand. 


LORD  BARDOLPH'S  REPLY 

L.  Bardolph.    Yes,  if  this  present  quality  of  war 
Needed  the  instant  action.     A  cause  on  foot 
Lives  so  in  hope  as  in  an  early  spring 
We  see  the  appearing  buds,  which  to  prove  fruit 
Hope  gives  not  so  much  warrant  as  despair 
That  frosts  will  bite  them. 

(Neilson' s  ed.  1906) 

L.  Bard.    Yes,  if  this  present  quality  of  war, 
Indeed  the  instant  action:  a  cause  on  foot 
Lives  so  in  hope  (etc.). 

(Globe  ed.  and  Cambridge) 
L.  Bard.     Yes,  in  this  present  quality  of  war; 
Indeed  the  instant  action  —  a  cause  on  foot  — 
Lives  so  in  hope  (etc.). 

(Malone,  White,  Gollancz,  etc.) 
L.  Sard.     Yes,  if  this  present  quality  of  warre, 
Indeed  the  instant  action:  a  cause  on  foot, 
Liues  so  in  hope  (etc.). 

(First  Folio,  1623) 

LET  the  reader  note  first  where  the  full  stop 
(period  or  colon)  comes.  Neilson  and  the 
Globe  have  it  after  action;  a  large  number  of 
other  editors  have  it  after  war;  the  First  Folio 
has  it  after  action.  Note  next  the  changes 
that  have  been  made  in  wording  and  compare 
them  with  the  First  Folio.  Where  the  Folio 
has  indeed  Neilson  has  needed.  Again,  where 
the  original  text  has  */,  Malone,  White  and 
others  have  in.  Here  we  have  a  view  of  the 
struggles  with  this  passage  from  the  early  edi- 


136      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

tors  up  to  the  present  day;  and  the  compara- 
tively recent  Globe  edition,  which  was  thought 
to  be  the  final  word  in  Shakespearean  scholar- 
ship, is  so  unsatisfactory  that  the  latest  scholarly 
edition  (1906)  cannot  accept  it  as  making 
satisfactory  sense.  And  yet,  this  present-day 
reading  is  only  had  by  substituting  needed,  a 
word  for  which  there  is  no  authority  except 
editorial  conjecture;  all  of  which  must  leave 
us  in  an  unsatisfactory  state  of  mind  as  to  what 
we  are  to  understand  here. 

I  hope  the  reader  has  begun  to  gather  that 
in  solving  these  "cruxes"  I  am  not  depending 
upon  verbal  quibbles  or  mere  antiquarian  con- 
jecture. The  editorial  and  critical  mind  has 
most  often  failed  by  its  inability  to  follow  char- 
acter as  Shakespeare,  by  carefully  laid  plot  and 
circumstance,  brings  it  to  our  attention.  In 
explaining  cruxes  by  a  knowledge  of  plot  and 
character,  therefore,  we  are  not  devoting  our 
time  to  a  mere  word  or  line;  we  are,  in  a  most 
important  way,  throwing  light  upon  the  whole 
work. 

Let  me  invite  the  reader  to  go  back  a  few 
lines  and  see  how  interestingly  Shakespeare  re- 
veals character  in  this  play.  The  present  lines 
come  in  the  course  of  a  warm  argument  between 
three  men  who  are  debating  the  advisability  of 
leading  their  troops  into  battle.  There  is  a 
fourth  also  —  Mowbray  —  who  is  the  sort  of 
officer  who  says  nothing,  but  listens  till  the 
matter  is  decided  and  at  once  becomes  a  man 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      137 

of  action.  These  four,  the  Archbishop,  Hast- 
ings, Mowbray  and  Bardolph  are  in  command 
of  the  rebel  forces.  But  they  have  been  dis- 
appointed by  the  failure  of  Northumberland 
to  unite  himself  with  them;  and  now  they  are 
arguing  as  to  whether  they  should  engage  in 
battle  with  the  king  or  not.  These  four  men 
are  of  different  and  strongly  contrasted  types 
of  character.  Shakespeare  knew  that  a  thing 
is  best  defined  by  comparison  and  the  noting  of 
differences;  he  therefore  throws  groups  of  con- 
trasting characters  together;  and  this  arrange- 
ment upon  his  part  serves  to  throw  their  various 
characteristics  into  high  relief. 

Hastings  is  a  type  of  man  with  whom  we  are 
all  familiar.  He  is  too  sanguine.  Once  he  has 
started  upon  an  undertaking  his  hopes  com- 
pletely take  the  place  of  his  judgment;  he  de- 
ludes himself  with  the  sort  of  optimism  which 
will  not  look  plain  facts  in  the  face.  When 
circumstances  arise  which  should  give  him 
pause,  he  meets  the  facts  by  deluding  himself 
still  further;  he  cannot  admit  to  his  mind  any- 
thing which  conflicts  with  his  fond  hopes.  Cool 
judgment  is  not  a  part  of  his  makeup;-  he  is 
one  of  the  kind  who  rush  forth  to  disaster  and 
only  see  it  afterward.  He  is  for  going  into 
battle  at  once. 

Lord  Bardolph  is  the  very  opposite;  he  has 
no  patience  with  that  visionary,  childish  spirit 
in  a  military  officer.  With  him  war  is  cool 
business;  and  first  of  all  he  wants  to  know  the 


138      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

facts.  Thus  he  will  decide  whether  to  delay 
for  reinforcements,  or  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope,  or 
to  give  over  the  undertaking  entirely.  He  acts 
upon  judgment,  and  judgment  must  deal  with 
facts;  he  wishes  to  have  them  all  before  him 
whether  they  are  favorable  to  his  hopes  or  not. 
Hastings  is  hasty;  he  would  never  do  to  plan 
a  battle  or  conduct  a  campaign.  But  Lord 
Bardolph  is  a  typical  commanding  General.  He 
does  not  hesitate  nor  yet  rush  ahead;  he  has 
the  force  of  mind  to  look  at  facts  and  insist 
that  they  be  taken  into  consideration. 

The  Archbishop  is  entirely  different;  he  is 
not  a  soldier  at  all.  His  nature  is  diplomatic, 
his  training  is  that  of  the  scholar,  academic 
and  polemic.  While  the  others  contrast  with 
each  other  as  soldiers,  the  Archbishop  is  thrown 
into  definite  relief  by  putting  him  into  a  posi- 
tion where  he  had  no  business  in  the  first 
place  —  at  the  head  of  troops.  Not  being  a 
practical  soldier  he  cannot  take  the  initiative 
in  pointing  the  way  to  a  decision;  he  wishes  to 
hear  the  various  views  of  the  others.  But 
while  he  is  no  military  man  he  does  not  there- 
fore abstain  from  having  opinions,  one  side  and 
then  the  other,  but  quite  the  opposite.  Being 
a  man  of  polemic  training,  he  says  much  as  the 
argument  develops  the  facts  to  work  on;  he 
feels  his  way  and  inclines  first  to  a  point  of 
Lord  Bardolph's  and  then  to  the  more  hopeful 
view  as  Hastings  insists  upon  it.  And  finally, 
as  there  is  complete  disagreement  between  Bar- 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       139 

dolph  and  Hastings,  it  is  the  man  of  the  church 
who  really  decides  to  risk  the  encounter. 

Such  is  the  internal  nature  of  the  scene;  it  is 
a  study  in  character.  But  in  the  meantime 
the  plot  is  being  advanced;  and  its  effect  as  a 
whole,  in  relation  to  the  plot,  is  to  leave  us  with 
a  deep  impression  of  the  ticklish  situation  of 
the  rebel  cause.  Here  we  have  Mowbray,  who, 
though  he  is  Lord  Marshal,  says  practically 
nothing.  The  Archbishop,  who  formally  opens 
the  conference,  naturally  directs  his  attention 
to  the  Lord  Marshal  first;  but  he  simply  defers 
to  the  opinions  of  the  others  and  is  heard  from 
no  more  till,  at  the  end,  he  says,  "Shall  we 
draw  our  numbers  and  set  on?"  —  a  question. 
This,  and  the  fact  that  the  churchman  virtually 
decides  the  military  question,  in  the  lack  of 
agreement,  show  us  the  rebel  plight.  Having 
now  considered  the  substance  of  the  scene  in 
detail,  and  seen  its  general  function  as  a  unit 
in  the  plot,  we  may  note  how  deftly  Shake- 
speare does  all  this.  The  solution  of  the  crux 
will  present  itself  when  we  see  that  it  is  engaged 
upon  the  point  of  character  presented  by  the 
two  opposite  men,  Bardolph  and  Hastings. 

Opening  the  argument,  Mowbray  makes  in- 
quiry as  to  their  present  numbers  and  the  pros- 
pect of  reinforcement.  To  this  Hastings  offers 
the  answer. 

Hast.    Our  present  numbers  grow  upon  the  file 
To  five  and  twenty  thousand  men  of  choice; 
And  our  supplies  live  largely  in  the  hope 


I4O      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

Of  great  Northumberland,  whose  bosom  burns 
With  an  incensed  fire  of  injuries. 

Note  the  nature  of  Hastings'  answer;  they 
are  five  and  twenty  men  "of  choice."  The 
number  of  men  alone  is  not  good  enough  for 
him;  he  must  raise  their  value  by  looking  at 
them  as  being  more  than  ordinary  men.  And 
though  Northumberland  has  so  far  disappointed 
them  by  not  arriving,  Hastings  is  careful  to 
add  that  Northumberland's  "bosom  burns" 
with  the  fire  of  injuries  received  from  the  king 
their  foe. 

The  character  of  Lord  Bardolph  at  once  as- 
serts itself.  He  throws  aside  these  mere  hope- 
ful expectations  and  sanguine  points  of  view 
and  brings  it  down  to  a  matter  of  facts  and 
figures  as  they  actually  stand  here  and  now. 

L.  Bardolph.     The  question  then,  Lord  Hastings,  standeth 

thus; 

Whether  our  present  five  and  twenty  thousand 
May  hold  up  head  without  Northumberland. 

He  is  interested  in  what  they  may  expect 
with  their  present  five  and  twenty  thousand 
(note  this  point  of  view).  And  in  what  they 
may  do  without  the  man  who  has,  so  far,  not 
arrived,  and  who  may  therefore  have  gone  back 
on  them.  He  is  not  one  to  rely  upon  what  may 
be  in  the  "bosom"  of  any  man;  he  wants  per- 
formance and  not  promises.  He  wants  to  see 
the  soldiers.  He  has  virtually  restated  the 
question  that  Mowbray  asked,  seeing  that 
Hastings  is  the  kind  to  drift  away  from  a  plain 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       141 

question  of  present  facts.  Hastings,  in  reply 
to  this  question  as  to  whether  they  may  hope 
to  succeed  without  Northumberland,  replies: 

Hast.     With  him  we  may. 

Hastings  is  not  the  kind  of  man  who  would 
ever  answer,  Without  him  we  may  not.  He 
shuts  his  eyes  to  facts.  He  is  a  man  who  will 
not  get  down  to  actual  facts  in  present  circum- 
stances. Shakespeare  is  here  bringing  his  char- 
acter before  us  with  stronger  emphasis.  At 
first  he  only  indicated  it  in  the  deftest  way,  — 
by  having  him  speak  of  his  men  as  "men  of 
choice."  We  may  expect  to  see  this  emphasis 
grow  stronger,  for  Shakespeare  is  particular  to 
make  his  points  tacit. 

Hastings'  plain  answer  should  have  been  No. 
Bardolph  again  brings  him  back  to  the  case  in 
hand. 

Bardolph.     Yea,  marry,  there's  the  point. 
But  if  without  him  we  be  thought  too  feeble, 
My  judgement  is,  we  should  not  step  too  far 
Till  we  have  had  his  assistance  by  the  hand; 
For  in  a  theme  so  bloody-faced  as  this 
Conjecture,  expectation  and  surmise 
Of  aids  uncertain  should  not  be  admitted. 

There  is  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  the,  "Yea, 
marry,  there's  the  point!"  It  is  the  point  which 
Hastings  will  not  answer.  His  mind  is  one  that 
cannot  be  made  to  get  down  to  actual  present 
facts.  Bardolph  speaks  of  using  "judgement" 
as  opposed  to  "conjecture,  expectation  and  sur- 
mise." The  Archbishop,  seeing  the  force  of 
this,  agrees  with  Bardolph :  — 


142      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Archbishop.     'Tis  very  true,  Lord  Bardolph;   for  indeed 
It  was  young  Hotspur's  case  at  Shrewsbury. 

Bardolph,  now  that  the  scholarly  Archbishop 
has  mentioned  a  precedent,  put  Hotspur's  case 
in  very  strong  terms  —  a  biting  reflection  on 
Hastings  himself. 

Bardolph.     It  was,  my  lord;  who  lined  himself  with  hope, 
Eating  the  air  on  promise  of  supply,  < 

Flattering  himself  in  project  of  a  power 
Much  smaller  than  the  smallest  of  his  thoughts: 
And  so,  with  great  imagination 
Proper  to  madmen,  led  his  powers  to  death 
And  winking  leap'd  into  destruction. 

And  now  Hastings,  seeing  the  rest  against 
him,  and  feeling  the  sting  of  this  way  of  putting 
things,  replies  weakly  — 

Hastings.     But,  by  your  leave,  it  never  yet  did  hurt 
To  lay  down  likelihoods  and  forms  of  hope. 

This  brings  us  to  the  "crux."  It  consists  in 
Bardolph's  emphatic  reply  to  this  view  which 
Hastings  will  persist  in. 

Bardolph,  disgusted,  becomes  somewhat  sar- 
castic. He  intimates  that  if  their  present  out- 
look is  so  much  a  matter  of  hope  —  as  Hastings' 
unwillingness  to  look  at  facts  would  indicate  — 
then  their  plans  are  like  a  bud  upon  a  tree  in 
an  early  spring  —  more  likely  to  be  frost-bitten 
than  ever  to  come  to  fruit.  But  before  he  gives 
this  touch  of  sarcasm,  he  denies  Hastings  state- 
ment directly:  Yes,  it  does  hurt. 

If  there  is  anything  calculated  to  try  Bar- 
dolph's  patience  it  is  this,  "It  never  yet  did 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      143 

hurt."  "Never  yet"  means  in  other  cases 
heretofore,  in  general.  Hastings  seems  utterly 
unable  to  get  down  to  this  actual  case  of 
theirs  and  take  account  of  present  facts.  The 
never  yet  means  nothing;  it  is  simply  a  weak 
way  of  insisting  without  reason.  And  Bar- 
dolph,  in  replying,  refuses  to  be  led  off  into 
such  general  instances  but  insists  still  more 
strongly  —  repeatedly  —  upon  sticking  to  the 
subject.  He  says:  Yes,  it  does  hurt,  if  this 
business  in  hand  right  here  and  now,  this  par- 
ticular quality  of  war  —  rebellion,  this  instant 
action  we  are  engaged  in,  this  cause  actually 
on  foot,  lives  so  in  hope,  then  it  does  hurt  to 
indulge  in  vague  surmises  and  delude  our  minds 
with  "forms  of  hope."  Or  to  put  it  in  the 
words  of  the  text: 

L.  Bard.     Yes,  if  this  present  quality  of  war, 
Indeed  the  instant  action,  a  cause  on  foot, 
Lives  so  in  hope  as  in  an  early  spring 
We  see  th'  appearing  buds,  which,  to  prove  fruit 
Hope  give  not  so  much  warrant  as  despair 
That  frosts  will  bite  them. 

These  are  the  very  words  of  the  First  Folio, 
the  original  text  of  this  particular  passage. 
All  editors  have  had  to  change  words,  some 
this  word  and  some  that,  in  the  effort  to  twist 
it  into  some  statement  other  than  it  is.  But 
could  there  be  a  plainer,  more  specific  reply, 
or  one  which  better  fits  the  case  and  hangs 
grammatically  together  with  closer  sense?  It 
is  all  a  case  of  following  the  argument  and 


144      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

having  a  feeling  for  the  play  of  character  which 
Shakespeare  takes  so  much  pains  to  unfold 
to  us. 

These  phrases,  "this  present  quality  of  war," 
and  "the  instant  action,"  and  "a  cause  on  foot" 
are  synonymous;  and  the  repetition  in  different 
forms  is  simply  Bardolph's  way  of  insisting,  of 
drilling  into  Hastings'  head,  that  we  must  deal 
with  the  thing  before  us  here  and  now.  After 
"Yes"  the  words  it  does  hurt  are  to  be  under- 
stood. For  in  giving  a  direct  answer,  yes  or 
no,  the  query  is  included  in  the  sense.  If 
the  reader  will  put  these  words  after  "Yes"  the 
first  time  he  reads  the  passage  for  himself,  the 
grammatical  structure  of  the  sentence  will  be- 
come so  plain  that  the  length  of  it  cannot  pos- 
sibly entangle  him.  Hastings  has  said,  "It 
never  yet  did  hurt,"  and  when  a  man  replies 
Yes  to  this  he  means  of  course,  "Yes,  it  does 
hurt."  The  shorter  form  makes  Bardolph's 
reply  more  incisive,  curt  and  direct,  in  keeping 
with  the  spirit  of  the  moment. 

If  the  reader  will  now  examine  the  various 
texts  at  the  head  of  this  explanation  he  will 
see  that  their  statements  are  impossible. 

Neilson's  preference,  in  some  regards,  is  the 
best.  But  he  has  changed  "indeed"  to 
"needed,"  which  is  unnecessary  and  has  no 
authority.  His  putting  a  period  after  action 
makes  a  separate  statement  of  what  follows: 
"A  cause  on  foot  lives  so  in  hope,"  etc.  This 
would  refer  to  all  causes,  or  wars,  on  foot,  and 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       145 

this  will  not  bear  examination;  for  many  wars 
actually  on  foot  are  very  certain  in  their  out- 
come and  do  not  stand  so  entirely  "in  hope" 
as  is  here  stated. 

The  Globe  text  is  the  worst,  for  it  has  not 
even  the  merit  of  showing  that  the  editors  had 
a  notion  of  what  they  meant  themselves  — 
which  the  other  renderings,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, do. 

In  point  of  punctuation,  that  of  Malone, 
which  has  been  much  followed,  is  the  best  be- 
cause it  shows  these  three  phrases  as  being 
synonymous  and  parallel.  But  the  change  to 
in  where  the  Folio  has  if,  is  fatal.  It  makes 
Bardolph  say,  "Yes;  in  this  present  quality  of 
war  lives  'so  in  hope,"  which  is  not  even  English 
and  could  not  convey  any  idea.  The  reason  of 
all  this  is  simply  that  the  editors  have  not  had 
the  idea  themselves;  and  in  editing  the  text 
they  had  to  make  some  effort.  The  passage 
has  never  been  correctly  printed.  The  careless 
punctuation  of  the  First  Folio  mixed  up  the 
sense,  and  since  then  it  has  gone  from  bad  to 
worse  because  of  the  efforts  to  make  something 
out  of  it  by  changing  the  words.  The  printers 
of  the  First  Folio  could  not  punctuate;  for  in 
order  to  punctuate  you  must  understand  the 
sense.  In  cases  where  they  did  not  follow  the 
drift  of  things  they  threw  in  colons  or  commas 
at  random.  The  First  Folio  is  the  worst 
edited  work  of  any  great  importance  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen;  the  palpable  errors  run 


146      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

up  into  many  thousands.     The  original  text, 
reproduced  exactly,  is  as  follows :  — 

L.  Bar.     Yes,  if  this  present  quality  of  warre 
Indeed  the  instant  action:  a  cause  on  foot, 
Lives  so  in  hope:  As  in  an  early  Spring, 
We  see  th'  appearing  buds,  etc. 

But,  as  punctuation  is  a  mere  matter  of  fol- 
lowing the  sense,  and  as  Shakespeare's  sense  is 
so  tacit  because  of  the  close  interrelations  and 
organic  cogency  of  his  work,  it  is  an  easy  matter 
to  remedy  the  random  commas  and  colons. 
And  when  this  method  makes  the  most  con- 
vincing and  luminous  sense  it  is  a  satisfaction 
to  know  that  we  at  least  have  the  words  that 
Shakespeare  wrote. 


THE  HUMAN  MIND 

Duke  S.     Dost  thou  believe,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised? 

Orlando.     I  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do  not; 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

(As  You  Like  It,  v,  4,  4) 

THE  words  of  this  last  line  have  been  changed 
in  every  conceivable  way  in  the  effort  to  get  a 
meaning  out  of  it.  Close  study  over  the  pos- 
sible idea  began  with  Bishop  Warburton  and 
Samuel  Johnson,  since  when  dozens  of  editors 
and  critics  have  offered  emendations  on  the 
theory  that  the  difficulty  is  due  to  typographical 
error.  As  none  of  these  conjectures  have 
proved  self-evident,  the  Globe  marks  it  as  a 
crux.  It  is  still  suspected  of  being  a  "corrupt 
line." 

The  words  are  correct  as  they  stand.  The 
line  deals  with  the  faculty  of  apperception; 
and  Shakespeare  is  applying  this  peculiar 
ability  of  the  mind  to  the  most  embarrassing 
problem  with  which  it  can  deal  —  the  struggle 
between  hope  and  reason.  It  could  not  possibly 
be  expressed  more  exactly  than  in  the  above 
words. 

Shakespeare  is  here  dealing  with  a  man 
whose  mind  is  under  the  influence  of  the  most 
passionate  hope  a  man  may  have  —  that  of 


148      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

love.  The  fulfillment  of  his  hope  is  made  to 
rest  on  the  slightest  of  all  forms  of  evidence,  a 
promise.  The  promise  in  this  case  is  not  made 
by  the  other  person  involved,  but  by  a  mere 
boy  who  has  no  apparent  ability  to  bring  it  to 
pass;  the  boy's  promise  is  beyond  all  reason. 
Thus  we  have  an  inward  contest  of  the  strongest 
kind  —  the  contest  between  hope,  which  is 
always  inclined  to  believe  without  evidence, 
and  reason,  which  does  not  believe  except  with 
evidence.  The  man  tries  to  make  up  his  mind, 
and,  as  this  is  impossible,  the  mind's  attention 
is  turned  toward  itself  and  is  driven  to  an  at- 
tempt at  self-analysis  —  apperception. 

Orlando  is  deeply  in  love  with  a  nobleman's 
daughter.  He  has  not  courted  her,  has  not 
even  mentioned  his  love  to  her,  and  he  is  away 
off  in  the  forest  where  she,  it  would  seem, 
could  not  possibly  be.  Along  comes  a  boy 
who  most  emphatically  promises  that  he  will 
bring  the  young  woman  in  a  short  while  and 
that  she  will  at  once  marry  him. 

The  human  mind,  with  its  embarrassing  ap- 
perceptive  faculty,  could  hardly  be  put  in  a 
more  distressing  plight  than  such  an  inward 
struggle  —  the  contest  between  hope  and  rea- 
son over  so  important  and  so  insistent  a  thing 
as  love.  A  man  cannot  stop  thinking  about  it 
and  yet  he  can  never  come  to  any  reasonable 
conclusion. 

We  only  hope  in  a  case  of  doubt.  Doubt 
arises  from  a  lack  of  evidence.  To  believe 


SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       149 

without  evidence  is  not  reason  but  delusion; 
therefore  hope  is  more  or  less  self-delusion. 
And  the  human  mind  is  so  constituted  that  it 
is  aware  of  its  weakness  for  self-delusion.  Right 
here  it  is  possible  to  get  into  a  most  perplexing 
difficulty  with  ourselves. 

What  takes  place  is  as  follows.  Orlando's 
mind  goes  willingly  to  the  belief  of  that  which 
he  so  ardently  desires.  This  is  natural;  he 
finds  himself  believing  it.  But  it  occurs  to 
him  that  he  is  being  led  into  belief  by  mere 
hope  and  against  all  reason.  Maybe  it  is  just 
delusion  on  his  part.  At  the  same  time  the 
thing  may  actually  come  to  pass,  in  which  case 
it  is  a  fact  and  nothing  else;  but  this  he  cannot 
know  though  he  would  like  to.  He  is  therefore 
afraid  that  it  is  only  hope  on  his  part;  or,  in 
other  words,  he  fears  he  hopes.  And  to  fear 
that  you  only  hope  is  to  go  over  to  doubt 
completely. 

But  this  is  an  unwelcome  state  of  mind  to 
him;  the  doubt  gives  him  pain  because  it  is  so 
much  against  his  desires.  And  he  is  in  the 
greatest  anxiety,  the  utmost  stress  of  mind, 
regarding  the  truth  of  the  matter.  He  has 
been  correcting  his  mind  against  delusion,  and 
now  it  occurs  to  him  that  the  mind  may  be 
overfearful  of  delusion  and  exaggerate  its  own 
case.  As  he  is  conscious  of  his  own  extreme 
anxiety,  he  sees  that  the  mind,  working  in 
such  stress  and  completely  in  the  dark,  may 
correct  itself  too  much.  Being  awake  to  this, 


I5O       SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

he  knows  he  fears;  and  in  this  knowledge  that 
the  mind  may  be  influenced  as  much  by  fear 
of  delusion  as  by  hope  of  fulfillment,  the  recent 
verdict  of  reason  is  discountenanced  and  hope 
gains  the  ascendency  again.  Therefore  he 
believes. 

We  here  see  depicted  the  alternation  between 
the  emotions,  which  are  unstable  in  their  nature, 
and  the  intellect,  which  attempts  to  hold  its 
own  at  every  relapse. 

Doubt  is  repugnant  to  the  human  mind,  es- 
pecially in  a  case  where  one's  whole  happiness 
is  involved.  Orlando  found  his  opinion  changing 
back  and  forth  a  great  many  times:  thus  his 
mind's  attention  was  called  to  itself.  The  al- 
ternation is  that  between  doubt  and  hope  — 
between  being  afraid  that  you  are  only  hoping 
and  knowing  that  the  mind  may  be  too  much 
influenced  by  this  fear.  Orlando's  problem 
as  to  whether  the  boy  could  do  what  he  prom- 
ised had  to  be  fought  out  on  the  battleground 
of  reason,  for  he  could  not  tolerate  doubt  in  a 
thing  so  vital  to  his  interests;  but  there  was 
no  evidence  to  prove  what  he  wished  nor  yet 
any  positive  proof  that  what  the  boy  said  was 
not  so.  Having  believed  because  he  hoped, 
and  disbelieved  because  he  saw  it  was  unrea- 
sonable to  believe  without  evidence,  he  had  to 
do  it  all  over  again;  for  the  human  mind  cannot 
really  believe  without  evidence  nor  yet  utterly 
disbelieve  what  it  ardently  desires.  And  in  so 
important  a  question  as  that  of  love  it  cannot 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       151 

stop  thinking;  therefore  he  had  to  keep  on 
believing  and  disbelieving. 

What  Shakespeare  has  said  in  this  line  is 
exactly  what  takes  place  in  the  mind  of  any 
man  under  great  stress  of  doubt;  it  could  not 
be  more  fundamentally  put  in  short.  All  men 
"fear  they  hope"  -are  afraid  that  they  are 
only  hoping.  And  what  is  this  but  to  doubt 
the  workings  of  the  mind  itself,  for  it  is  the 
mind  which  does  the  hoping  and  then  does  the 
fearing.  In  this  case  all  men,  being  self-con- 
scious, "know  they  fear."  If  then  we  are 
thinkers  at  all,  like  Orlando,  this  fact  that  the 
mind  fears  or  has  an  instinct  against  self-delu- 
sion, will  prompt  him  to  think  that  it  may  be 
carrying  its  apprehensiveness  too  far.  And 
this  will  give  more  credence  to  the  whisperings 
of  hope  again  —  a  welcome  state  of  mind  but 
one  which  will  not  last  long  because  reason  will 
not  have  it.  In  a  case  of  great  importance  to 
ourselves  we  cannot  brook  doubt;  we  have  got 
to  believe  or  disbelieve;  and  if  there  is  no  evi- 
dence to  work  on  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to 
go  round  the  everlasting  treadmill  of  hope  and 
doubt,  first  one  and  then  the  other.  I  do  not 
see  how  Shakespeare  could  have  put  this  uni- 
versal truth  more  plainly. 

Why  is  it  all  put  from  the  standpoint  of 
"those  who"?  Because  Shakespeare  meant  it 
as  an  universal  truth.  The  "those"  referred  to 
is  all  of  us.  Then,  too,  it  is  a  stroke  of  human 
nature  to  have  Orlando  put  it  in  that  way. 


152      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

When  we  are  engaged  in  self-analysis,  the  mind 
stands  off  to  one  side,  as  it  were,  and  contem- 
plates itself;  but  while  it  is  doing  so  it  considers 
itself  as  being  engaged  upon  the  great  subject  of 
mind.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we  are  simply  con- 
sidering ourselves,  but  being  wrapped  in  the 
idea  of  contemplating  mental  law  and  general 
truth  it  is  not  natural  for  us  to  keep  to  the 
point  of  view  that  we  are  just  considering  our- 
selves in  person.  It  is  a  mood  of  abstraction, 
of  intense  absence  from  ourselves.  The  meta- 
physician who  writes  about  Mind  so  abstractly 
knows  nothing  upon  the  subject  except  what 
he  learned  by  looking  into  his  own;  but  he 
always  refers  to  humanity  in  general  and  speaks 
in  terms  that  are  equivalent  to  Orlando's  "those 
who."  This  is  one  of  those  quick  touches  of 
insight,  of  truth  to  nature,  with  which  Shake- 
speare is  always  surprising  us. 

The  reason  this  passage  has  been  an  incon- 
querable  puzzle  is  simply  that  it  has  to  do  with 
one's  self.  Commentators  are  always  looking 
into  old  books  or  speculating  far  afield  as  if 
they  did  not  know  that  Shakespeare  is  always 
engaged  simply  upon  human  nature  —  a  thing 
that  is  to  be  found  near  at  home.  And  this 
seems  to  have  been  too  near  for  the  learned 
type  of  past  generations  who  really  raised  all 
the  confusion  by  their  conjectures.  It  is 
almost  humorous  to  consider  the  profound 
Samuel  Johnson  and  the  erudite  Bishop  War- 
burton,  whose  specialty  was  metaphysics,  look- 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       153 

ing  in  vain  at  a  few  words  which  simply  de- 
scribed their  own  minds.  It  goes  to  show  that 
"apperception"  and  such  learned  dialect  in 
general  may  be  a  mere  system  of  words,  and 
acquired  as  such  without  ever  taking  the  form 
of  actual  vital  knowledge.  Here  was  where 
Shakespeare  excelled  —  in  thinking  fundamen- 
tally and  having  his  knowledge  at  first  hand. 

In  case  the  reader  might  be  interested  in  the 
history  of  this  line  I  here  append  a  list  of  emen- 
dations. 

WARBURTON  —  As  those  that  fear  their  hap  and  know  their 
fear. 

JOHNSON  —  As  those  that  fear,  thy  hope,  and  know  thy  fear. 
As  those  that  fear  with  hope  and  hope  with  fear.  As  those  that 
fear,  thy  hope,  and  now  thy  fear. 

HEATH  —  As  those  that  fear  their  hope,  and  know  their  fear. 
(Adopted  by  Capell.) 

BLACKSTONE  —  As  those  that  feign  thy  hope,  and  know  thy 
fear. 

MUSGRAVE  —  As  those  that  fear,  then  hope;  and  know,  then 
fear. 

MASON  —  As  those  that  fearing  hope,  and  hoping  fear. 

RANN  —  As  those  that  fear  thee,  hope,  and  know  thee,  fear. 

BECKET  —  As  those  that  hope  thy  fear,  then  know  thy  fear. 

JACKSON  —  As  those  that  fear  the  hope  and  know  the  fear. 

HARNESS  —  As  those  that  fear  may  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

COLLIER  MSS.  —  As  those  that  fear  to  hope  and  know  thy  fear. 

JERVIS  —  As  those  fear  that  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

BULLOCH  —  As  those  that  scarcely  hope  and  now  they  fear. 

LETTSOM  —  As  those  that  fear  their  hope,  and  hope  their  fear. 
(Adopted  by  Keightly,  1864.) 

BAILEY  —  As  those  that  fain  would  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

GOULD  —  As  those  fear  that  they  hope,  and  hope  they  fear. 

THE  GLOBE  EDITORS  (ed.  of  1895)  —  the  line  is  given  up 
and  queried  as  hopelessly  corrupt. 


154      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

Of  these  conjectures,  the  one  adopted  by 
Capell  would  seem  at  first  to  embody  the  sense 
with  fair  clearness.  But  the  change  of  they  to 
their  makes  a  fundamental  difference  in  Or- 
lando's state  of  mind.  Orlando  did  not  merely 
fear  his  hope;  he  feared  that  he  did  hope. 
He  did  not  know  about  it,  and  was  thus  in  a 
state  of  confusion.  Besides  which,  Shakespeare's 
statement  is  that  Orlando  (true  to  nature)  was 
clinging  to  the  view  that,  after  all,  the  thing 
might  turn  out  in  the  end  to  be  true,  in  which 
case  his  belief  would  prove  to  be  no  delusion 
at  all  but  the  belief  of  a  fact.  Thus  the  original 
passage  shows  that  Orlando  was  in  doubt 
about  his  own  mind  as  well  as  the  facts. 
Shakespeare's  way  of  saying  it  is  exact;  and 
if  an  editor  felt  the  necessity  of  altering  the 
words  it  shows  that  he  was  laboring  under 
some  misconception. 


PAINTED  HOPE 

This  minion  stood  upon  her  chastity, 

Upon  her  nuptial  vow,  her  loyalty, 

And  with  that  painted  hope  braves  your  mightiness. 

(Titus  Andronicus,  ii,  3,  126) 

AFTER  studying  all  the  emendations  and 
conjectures  from  the  time  of  the  earliest  critics, 
White  gave  up  this  passage  with  the  note :  — 
"A  line  manifestly,  and  it  would  seem  hope- 
lessly, corrupt.  But  perhaps  we  might  read, 
And  with  that  faint  hope  braves,  &c."  The 
Globe  editors  mark  the  line  containing  painted 
hope  with  the  obolus. 

The  speaker  is  the  brutish  Demetrius  who 
is  the  son  of  the  no  less  bestial  Queen  Tamora. 
The  chaste  Lavinia  has  repelled  his  advances. 
This  "painted  hope"  contains  a  point  of  view 
which  exactly  fits  the  character  and  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

If  Lavinia,  when  he  made  his  advances,  had 
given  him  strictly  to  understand  that  she 
hated  him;  if  she  had  met  him  with  a  tongue- 
lashing  in  good  round  unfeminine  terms,  she 
would  have  done  something  to  dissipate  that 
dream  of  lust  and  disenchant  his  passion.  If 
she  had  conducted  herself  like  a  virago  and  put 
her  refusal  in  terms  of  hate,  she  would  have 


156      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

been  doing  something  that  a  man  like  himself 
could  understand.  And  it  would  have  operated 
somewhat  to  disillusionize  him. 

But  the  gentle  Lavinia  based  her  refusal  upon 
her  nuptial  vows,  her  chastity,  her  loyalty  to 
another.  Not  her  mere  personal  value  nor  her 
hatred  of  him,  but  in  terms  that  are  born  of 
her  ideals,  her  goodness.  Nothing  could  give 
more  promise  to  such  a  man.  For  strange  as 
it  may  seem  when  we  think  of  it,  lust  at  its 
lowest  devours  nothing  with  such  relish  as 
goodness  (a  point  we  see  illustrated  in  Measure 
for  Measure) ;  and  as  nuptial  vows  and  loyalty 
mean  so  little  to  him  that  they  would  seem  to 
be  easily  set  aside,  her  mention  of  no  other 
reason  for  refusing  seemed  as  good  as  a  promise. 
With  this  understanding  we  may  appreciate 
Shakespeare's  way  of  saying  it. 

There  are  three  stages  of  possession,  or  three 
degrees  of  concreteness  —  a  mental  vision,  a 
picture,  and  the  reality.  A  painting  occupies 
a  position  half  way  between  the  unsubstantial, 
uncertain,  self-supported  vision  of  a  thing  and 
the  thing  itself.  Now  when  Lavinia  gave  him 
such  refusals  his  hope  of  success  became  more 
vivid.  When  she  spoke  of  her  chastity  and 
gave  excuses  that  were  no  real  excuses  to  him, 
she  only  aggravated  his  passion  and  seemed  to 
be  artfully  drawing  him  on;  and  only  to 
refuse  him.  It  was  as  if  she  had  painted  the 
picture  of  his  success  with  her  own  hands,  or 
in  her  own  person,  and  held  it  up  before  him. 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN  SHAKESPEARE       157 

She  made  herself  a  "painted  hope."  This  is 
simply  a  hope  whose  pictures  are  more  vivid, 
more  real,  than  the  uncertain  visions  of  hope 
unassisted. 

Demetrius  is  telling  this  to  his  equally  low- 
minded  mother  to  arouse  her  anger.  The 
point  of  view  is  that  Lavinia,  in  thus  refusing 
the  royal  son,  was  making  light  of  the  queen's 
royalty.  Demetrius,  in  this  regard  of  privi- 
leged sonship,  is  like  Cloten  in  Cymbeline. 

EMENDATIONS 

JOHNSON  and  STEEVENS  —  And  with  that  painted  braves 
your  mightiness. 

COLLIER  MSS. — And  with  that  painted  shape  she  braves 
your  mightiness.  R.  GRANT  WHITE  —  And  with  that  faint 
hope  braves  your  mightiness.  CARTWRIGHT  —  And  with  that 
painting,  etc.  ORGER  —  And  with  that  painted  show,  etc. 
WARBURTON  (1747) — And  with  that  painted  cope  she  braves 
your  mightiness  (adopted  by  Theobald).  Present-day  editions 
follow  First  Folio  as  hopelessly  corrupt. 


HIGHER  ITALY 

King Farewell  young  lords; 

Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 

Of  worthy  Frenchmen:  let  higher  Italy, — 

Those  bated  that  inherit  but  the  fall 

Of  the  last  monarchy,  —  see  that  you  come 

Not  to  woo  honor  but  to  wed  it. 

(All's  Well,  ii,  i,  12) 

THE  very  first  instinct  of  aristocracy  is  to 
discountenance  the  upstart.  Consider,  then, 
what  a  king's  view  would  be  who  was  simply 
the  head  of  the  aristocracy  of  his  country. 
He  would  hardly  hold  up  for  emulation  or 
recognition  a  new  aristocracy  in  another  coun- 
try; for  they  would  necessarily  be  people  who 
had  achieved  their  position  by  the  overthrow 
of  the  royal  line.  To  his  own  noblemen  he 
would  hardly  speak  of  them  as  being  worthy 
of  consideration. 

By  higher  Italy,  the  king  means  the  higher 
classes  of  Italy.  At  the  time  this  play  was 
written,  "Italy"  was  nothing  more  than  a 
geographical  name;  it  consisted  of  republics 
such  as  Venice  and  Genoa  and  various  little 
monarchies.  The  young  French  noblemen, 
finding  things  dull  at  home  and  not  yet  having 
distinguished  themselves  in  war,  were  going 
abroad  to  take  part  in  one  of  the  wars  which 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       159 

were  always  going  on  between  these  countries. 
They  were  fighting,  not  for  a  cause,  but  purely 
for  emulation  —  this  we  must  keep  strictly  in 
mind  if  we  wish  to  understand  this  much- 
mooted  passage.  They  wished  to  win  their 
spurs  among  the  noblemen  of  other  countries 
and  return  home  covered  with  laurels;  thus 
they  would  keep  up  the  traditions  of  their  own 
fathers  who  were  essentially  men-at-arms. 
The  king  is  here  advising  the  young  aristocrats 
who  are  thus  starting  out.  Their  whole  stand- 
point, that  of  emulation,  is  strongly  set  forth  — 
"Let  higher  Italy  see,"  etc.  As  an  exception 
to  what  he  means  by  higher  Italy,  he  is  careful 
to  add,  parenthetically,  that  he  bates  (cuts 
off  or  excepts)  those  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
of  the  last  monarchy.  He  means  by  this,  all 
those  who  have  recently  set  up  as  aristocrats  — 
whose  only  inheritance  is  the  recent  overthrow 
of  a  monarchy.  The  ideal  of  long  lineage 
must  be  kept  up  in  a  kingdom  because  it  is  upon 
this  that  the  stability  of  the  throne  is  based. 
Thus  the  whole  course  of  history  shows  us  that 
however  much  kings  may  fight  among  them- 
selves, each  will  defend  the  other  from  an  upris- 
ing among  his  own  people;  and  this  duty  was, 
in  Shakespeare's  day,  and  much  later,  the  very 
law  of  nations.  Kings  have  a  common  cause; 
it  is  as  natural  as  the  law  of  self-preservation; 
and  if  aristocracy  could  be  suddenly  achieved 
and  recognized  there  would  be  constant  tempta- 
tion to  overthrow  the  ruling  power. 


l6o      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Even  Elizabeth  declared  to  Murray  her 
intention  of  keeping  Mary  on  the  Scottish 
throne  when  her  own  subjects  rebelled,  for  she 
said  it  was  "contrary  to  Scripture  and  un- 
reasonable that  the  head  should  be  subject  to 
the  foot."  And  Catherine  de  Medici  wrote 
to  her  "to  persevere  in  the  same  opinion  which 
you  have  hitherto  maintained,  that  princes 
should  assist  each  other  to  chastise  and  punish 
subjects  who  rise  against  them,  and  are  rebels 
to  the  sovereign."  In  Shakespeare's  day  this 
was  not  simply  a  law  of  nations;  it  was  the 
law  among  monarchs  themselves. 

In  the  present  passage  Shakespeare  is  de- 
picting aristocracy  true  to  life,  as  it  basically 
was.  The  king  therefore,  in  giving  his  first 
advice  to  the  young  noblemen  who  had  just 
come  to  his  court,  naturally  held  up  to  them 
that  ideal  which  is  the  very  hope  of  kings.  It 
is  as  if  he  had  interrupted  himself  to  remark :  — 
"Of  course  I  do  not  mean  these  upstarts,  for 
we  none  of  us  consider  them  when  we  think 
of  winning  honor."  What  could  be  more 
natural  for  a  king  to  say  under  these  particular 
circumstances?  The  first  thing  young  noble- 
men should  be  reminded  of  is  the  basic  law  of 
aristocracy.  However  we  may  differ  as  to  the 
identity  of  "those  bated"  there  should  be  no 
doubt,  upon  the  most  Shakespearean  grounds 
of  human  nature,  as  to  what  is  meant  by 
"higher"  Italy. 

Beginning  with  Hanmer  (1744)  and  extend- 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       l6l 

ing  up  to  the  present  day,  the  passage  has 
refused  to  resolve  itself  into  a  general  con- 
sistency. Coleridge  did  his  best  with  it  and 
wrote  in  his  notes:  "As  it  stands,  in  spite  of 
Warburton's  note,  I  can  make  nothing  of  it." 
Many  have  interpreted  "higher"  to  mean 
northern  Italy;  but  this  has  been  open  to 
many  objections  and  cannot  be  made  to  prove 
itself.  That  the  word  refers  to  the  higher 
classes  of  Italy  has  seemed  obvious  to  others; 
but  the  difficulty  has  been  to  define  "those 
bated"  in  a  way  that  would  harmonize. 
Hanmer  changed  the  latter  words  to  "those 
bastards,"  and  this,  after  being  long  used  by 
editors,  was  favored  by  Coleridge.  Capell 
made  it  "those  bated  ones"  in  the  sense  of 
people  reduced  in  fortune;  Bulloch  suggested 
"those  fated,"  Spence,  "those  baited,"  Schmidt 
defined  the  word  as  meaning  "beaten  down." 
It  is  now  regarded  as  hopeless  and  is  therefore 
indicated  as  such  in  the  Globe.  As  Gollancz 
says,  "the  passage  is  probably  corrupt." 
Whatever  it  is,  it  is  not  corrupt. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CAPULET 

Capulet.  Go  to,  go  to; 

You  are  a  saucy  boy.     Is  't  so  indeed? 
This  trick  may  chance  to  scath  you;   I  know  what. 
You  must  contrary  me!     Marry  't  is  time  — 

(Romeo  and  Juliet,  i,  5,  87) 

THE  period  in  that  third  line  is  in  the  wrong 
place.  It  should  come  after  must,  not  after 
what. 

Old  Capulet  has  been  circulating  amongst 
his  guests  at  the  wedding  feast,  complimenting 
the  ladies  and  twitting  the  young  ones  —  all 
agog  with  hospitality.  Suddenly  he  finds  it 
necessary  to  check  young  Tybalt  who  is  on  the 
point  of  marring  the  occasion  by  picking  a 
quarrel  with  Romeo.  Imagine  the  gracious 
and  hospitable  old  aristocrat  —  he  who  sum- 
marily ordered  "twenty  cunning  cooks"  and 
then  referred  to  the  results  as  "a  trifling  foolish 
banquet,"  —  and  let  the  ear  decide  just  what 
he  said  as  he  exercised  his  authority  over  this 
rash  and  stubborn  young  nephew.  He  said 
with  firmness  and  plain  definite  statement,  "I 
know  what  you  must."  He  hardly  replied  with 
that  half  meaningless  and  modern  slang-sound- 
ing phrase,  "I  know  what."  Or  consider  the 
remaining  half  of  the  remark  as  altered  by 
punctuation.  Having  made  his  plain  state- 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       163 

ment  of  authority  he  exclaimed  with  fiery 
brusqueness,  "Contrary  me!"  He  certainly  did 
not  say,  "You  must  contrary  me!"  This 
long-drawn-out  remark  is  weak,  pleading  and 
complaining;  no  actor  could  make  anything  ef- 
fective and  fiery  out  of  it.  Following  the  shorter 
sentence,  "I  know  what,"  it  is  especially  flat; 
a  shorter  remark  should  follow  a  longer  state- 
ment —  it  shows  his  ire  rising.  Capulet,  as 
Shakespeare  has  already  let  us  see,  is  not  a 
weak  complaining  sort  of  person. 

Certainly  we  have  been  reading  and  re- 
editing  Shakespeare  all  these  generations  with- 
out seeing  that  this  is  bad  work  upon  the  part 
of  the  early  editor  who  saw  fit  to  write  Shake- 
speare in  this  way. 

As  for  authority  in  punctuating  the  line,  there 
is  none,  the  loosely  punctuated  First  Folio 
having  only  commas,  as  follows  — 

This  trick  may  chance  to  scath  you,  I  know  what, 
You  must  contrary  me,  marry  't  is  time. 

It  is  purely  a  matter  of  insight,  not  scholar- 
ship. The  Globe  uses  a  colon  where  Neilson 
(1906)  uses  a  period,  but  this  is  all  one  as  in- 
dicating a  full  stop  after  what.  As  for  myself, 
all  the  editors  in  the  world  might  insist  upon 
having  the  passage  as  it  now  stands  in  standard 
editions;  but  I  would  reply  —  Not  in  any 
Shakespeare  of  mine. 


HER  C'S,  HER  U'S  AND  HER  T'S 

Malvolio.  By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's  hand.  These  be  her 
very  C's,  her  U's  and  her  T's;  and  thus  makes  she  her  great  P's. 
It  is,  in  contempt  of  question,  her  hand. 

Sir  Andrew.     Her  C's,  her  U's  and  her  T's;  why  that? 

(Twelfth  Night,  ii,  5,  95) 

THE  Shakespeare  reader  will  here  recognize 
an  old  friend.  This  cabalistic  combination  of 
letters  has  withstood  the  attacks  of  all  the 
commentators,  and  all  we  may  know  about  it 
now  is  that  it  is  either  "  purposely  meaning- 
less," or  else,  if  there  is  a  meaning,  Shakespeare 
buried  it  so  deep  that  no  one  may  ever  un- 
earth it. 

A  critic  familiar  with  Shakespeare's  method 
ought  to  be  able  to  decide  at  once,  even  though 
he  could  not  solve  the  crux,  that  the  author  is 
here  dealing  with  a  definite  meaning.  In  the 
first  place,  he  has  made  these  three  letters  the 
subject  of  particular  dramatic  action.  Malvo- 
lio, coming  down  the  garden  path  and  picking 
up  the  letter  which  the  humorous  conspirators 
have  put  there,  is  himself  the  one  whom  we  are 
expecting  to  see  made  a  fool  of — "a  con- 
templative idiot"  as  the  mischievous  Maria 
explained  in  getting  up  the  plot.  But  just  at 
the  moment  when  we  are  all  prepared  to 
laugh  at  Malvolio  as  he  maunders  over  the 


SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       165 

meanings  of  the  letter,  we  are  taken  by  sur- 
prise. From  the  box-tree  where  they  are 
hiding,  there  bobs  up  one  of  the  conspirators 
themselves  with  the  query  of  "why  that?" 
Even  before  the  pompous  Butler  himself  is 
entrapped,  one  of  the  conspirators  is  so  struck 
by  something  that  he  falls  into  the  trap. 

This  sudden  turning  of  our  attention,  so  con- 
trary to  the  direction  in  which  we  were  look- 
ing for  the  fun,  signalizes  these  letters  to  our 
mind;  and  Aguecheek's  "why  that?"  is  vir- 
tually a  question  for  the  audience  to  consider. 
In  the  second  place,  it  will  be  observed  that 
there  are  four  letters.  But  Sir  Andrew  pays 
no  attention  to  one  of  them;  he  is  interested 
in  the  other  three.  This  shows  mental  action 
on  Sir  Andrew's  part;  the  three  letters  have  a 
particular  meaning  to  him  else  he  would  not 
jump  at  them  and  let  the  other  go  by  the 
board.  Shakespeare  did  this  purposely;  he 
included  the  superfluous  letter  just  to  this  end. 
It  is  his  psychologic  mechanism  for  showing 
particular  mental  action  on  Sir  Andrew's  part 
with  regard  to  a  meaning.  And  the  "why 
that?"  directs  it  specifically  to  the  attention 
of  the  audience.  Thus  we  see  that  the  three 
letters  are  made  the  subject  of  a  little  separate 
dramatic  study  to  give  them  the  emphasis  of 
action;  and  after  this  emphasis  on  the  mind 
the  cue  is  given  that  there  is  a  meaning 
intended. 

Such  should  be  our  a  'priori  theory,  as  critics. 


l66      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

But  the  Elizabethan  spectator  would  need  no 
theory.  The  letters  have  significance  in  the 
fact  that  they  spell  cut.  And  if  we  have  fol- 
lowed the  play  with  live  interest  in  every  word, 
we  will  see  that  this  word  is  the  very  one  which 
would  be  calculated  to  catch  Sir  Andrew's 
attention  and  arouse  his  superstitious  fancy. 
The  senile  Sir  Andrew  is  spending  all  of  his 
time  and  much  of  his  money  in  trying  to  get 
the  rich  Countess  to  wife  —  she  who  was 
supposed  to  be  the  author  of  the  letter.  He 
had  finally  despaired  and  had  decided  to  give 
up  and  go  home  when  Sir  Toby  prevailed  upon 
him  to  stay;  and  the  last  thing  Sir  Toby  said 
to  him  in  the  scene  where  we  last  saw  them, 
was  — 

"Send  for  money,  knight;  if  thou  hast  her 
not  i'  the  end  call  me  cut" 

This  tremendous  declaration,  as  I  have  said, 
was  Sir  Toby's  final  word  to  Sir  Andrew  when 
we  saw  them  last;  it  comes  at  the  end  of  the 
scene.  And  there  is  but  a  short  scene  between 
that  and  their  present  appearance  on  the  stage. 
The  word,  therefore,  boding  failure  to  win  her, 
and  being  deliberately  spelled  out  of  the  letter, 
would  naturally  engage  Sir  Andrew's  attention. 
The  human  mind  is  just  that  superstitious.  It 
had  been  impressed  on  his  mind  in  connection 
with  the  Countess,  and  these  first  letters  from 
her  supposed  epistle  could  hardly  help  spelling 
the  word  to  him. 

"Cut,"  if  it  meant  the  same  in  Shakespeare's 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       167 

day  as  it  does  on  any  farm  today,  refers  to  an 
animal  that  has  been  desexed.  We  see  this 
in  "1st  Henry  IV,"  where  the  Carrier  says, 
"  beat  Cut's  saddle  and  put  a  few  flocks  in  the 
point,"  the  name  evidently  referring  to  a  geld- 
ing. For  such  a  superannuated  and  harmless 
old  chap  as  Sir  Toby  to  swear  by  this  word  to 
the  aged  suitor  who  was  even  more  senile  than 
himself,  was  funny  in  the  first  instance. 
Some  Shakespeareans,  as  Clark  and  Wright, 
seem  to  understand  "cut"  as  referring  merely 
to  a  bob-tailed  horse,  or  to  a  dog  in  like  condi- 
tion. But  the  dictionary,  because  of  the  well- 
known  and  long  established  horseman's  usage, 
includes  the  other.  However,  whatever  we 
may  accept  for  the  meaning,  it  was  the  tallest 
oath  Sir  Toby  knew  how  to  swear,  the  most 
reflecting  on  his  much-prized  manhood;  and 
the  Elizabethan  audience,  well  versed  in  all 
such  allusions,  would  hardly  need  to  be  hit  on 
the  head  to  see  the  meaning  in  it.  They  would 
only  need  to  have  their  attention  directed  to 
it  particularly;  and  this  Shakespeare  did  by 
making  it  the  centre  of  an  ingenious  and 
diverting  piece  of  dramatic  by-play.  When  we 
consider  the  surprise  of  the  audience  in  having 
their  attention  directed  in  the  very  opposite 
quarter  to  that  in  which  they  were  expecting 
to  find  the  "idiot,"  and  imagine  Sir  Andrew 
bobbing  up  with  this  superstitious  inquiry,  and 
remember  what  "cut"  would  signify  as  used  by 
an  old  sporting  gentleman  like  Sir  Toby,  whose 


1 68      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

failing  was  to  imagine  himself  as  being  still  in 
the  hey-dey  of  his  virility,  the  whole  com- 
bination was  calculated  to  make  the  audience 
split  its  sides  with  laughter. 

While  this  is  but  the  explanation  of  a  trifling 
comedy  allusion,  the  management  and  method 
of  the  dramatic  incident  is  as  deep  as  any  in 
more  serious  scenes;  it  shows  Shakespeare's 
practice  of  keeping  regard  for  what  would 
naturally  be  in  a  character's  mind  and  having 
the  event  result  from  inner  action.  In  Leontes' 
puzzling  soliloquy,  which  I  explained  as  the 
turning-point  of  "Twelfth  Night,"  we  saw  that 
frequently  the  speech  and  action  of  a  character 
is  but  the  outcropping  of  inner  action  —  the 
words  we  are  expected  to  see  through.  This  is 
essentially  the  same,  as  indeed,  are  a  large 
proportion  of  these  supposedly  meaningless 
passages. 

The  reader  will  now  ask  —  What  is  the 
meaning  of  the  letters  M.  O.  A.  I.  as  read  by 
Malvolio?  We  might  as  well  inquire  what 
what  was  the  meaning  of  the  P  which  Sir 
Andrew  did  not  bother  about.  We  should 
remember  that  none  of  this  has  any  meaning  in 
itself.  The  C.  U.  T.  only  has  a  meaning  as  it 
appealed  to  something  already  in  Sir  Andrew 
Aguecheek's  mind.  The  other  puzzle  serves  its 
purpose  for  the  "contemplative  idiot"  Mal- 
volio to  puzzle  over;  and  as  Shakespeare  has 
put  no  emphasis  on  it  nor  signified  a  cue,  we 
are  not  supposed  to  bother  about  it.  But,  by 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      169 

the  same  reasoning,  we  are  supposed  to  find 
a  meaning  in  the  other;  for  we  have  read 
Shakespeare  to  little  effect  if  we  do  not  under- 
stand him  well  enough  to  know  that  he  never 
took  pains  without  a  purpose. 


THE  TIME  OF  SCORN 

but,  alas,  to  make  me 
A  fixed  figure  for  the  time  of  scorn 
To  point  his  slow  unmoving  finger  at. 

(Othelk),  iv,  2,  53) 

ATTEMPTS  to  take  this  figure  of  speech  apart 
and  examine  its  works  have  resulted  in  much 
disagreement.  Partisans  of  the  First  Folio, 
which  reads  "slow  and  moving"  ask  those  who 
prefer  the  Quarto,  how  it  is  possible  for  a 
thing  to  be  slow  and  unmoving.  Again,  does 
the  imagery  refer  to  a  timepiece,  a  dial? 
Steevens  thought  it  did;  Knight  and  others 
have  thought  that  it  has  no  such  implication. 
The  difference  of  opinion  still  exists,  editors  of 
annotated  editions  drawing  upon  conflicting 
notes  according  to  their  fancy. 

I  think  the  standard  modern  editions  are 
right  in  giving  the  Quarto  reading  as  Shake- 
speare's and  that  the  reference  is  to  a  timepiece. 
The  trouble  seems  to  be  that  no  one  has  been 
able  to  set  forth  the  point  of  view  in  a  state- 
ment that  is  quite  convincing.  My  own  point 
of  view  is  as  follows. 

The  Germans  have  an  expression,  "to  write 
it  on  the  town  clock,"  the  meaning  of  which 
is  to  advertise  a  thing  in  the  most  public 
place.  I  have  always  seen  it  used  in  a  spirit 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       171 

of  ridicule,  as  when  a  man  has  been  caught  in 
some  misdeed  and  persists  in  writing  and  talk- 
ing publicly  in  his  own  defense,  thus  spreading 
his  disgrace  wider.  He  writes  it  on  the  town 
clock.  As  this  expression  is  a  folk  saying 
which  is  probably  very  old,  and  as  it  has  been 
caught  up  and  perpetuated  till  it  is  virtually  a 
part  of  the  language,  it  shows  that  there  is 
nothing  strained  or  unnatural  about  it.  So 
there  would  be  nothing  unnatural  in  Shake- 
speare's expressing  public  disgrace  in  a  similar 
way. 

But  Shakespeare  carries  it  a  little  farther. 
Othello  feels  as  if  he  were  the  very  figure,  the 
symbol,  the  standard  of  public  reference  for 
marital  disgrace.  He  feels  as  if  his  figure  or 
person  stood  for  obloquy  itself  just  as  authori- 
tatively as  a  figure  on  a  clock  stands  for  the 
hour  itself;  and  when  people  look  at  him  it  is 
time  to  scorn.  Hence  "time  of  scorn."  So 
deep  is  his  consciousness  that  he  feels  as  if  it 
were  always  that  time  of  day  with  him;  hence 
"slow  unmoving  finger."  This  "time  of  scorn" 
is  a  very  Shakespearean  style  of  expression,  as 
when  Hamlet  says  "It  is  the  breathing  time 
of  day  with  me,"  or,  as  in  "Love's  Labour's 
Lost,"  "What  time  o'  day  —  The  hour  that 
fools  should  ask."  I  think  that  future  annota- 
tors  would  supply  the  deficiency  in  their  eluci- 
dation by  explaining  that  this  is  supposed  to 
be  a  public  clock. 

As  to  the  literal  truth  of  "slow  unmoving" 


172      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

this  is  a  very  good  description  of  the  hand  of 
a  clock;  it  is  even  psychologically  perfect  when 
we  consider  that  we  are  aware  through  our 
intellect  that  the  motionless  hand  is  moving 
whereas  our  sense  of  sight  tells  us  that  it  is  not. 
The  Folio  reading,  however,  is  mere  tau- 
tology and  un-Shakespearean;  for  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  explain  that  a  thing  which  is  slow 
is  also  moving. 


GRATIANO'S  MEANING 

You  saw  the  mistress,  I  beheld  the  maid; 
You  loved,  I  loved  for  intermission. 
No  more  pertains  to  me  my  lord  than  you. 
(Merchant  of  Venice,  iii,  2,  201,  Globe  edition  1895) 
You  saw  the  mistress,  I  beheld  the  maid; 
You  loved,  I  loved;  for  intermission 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you. 

(Neilson  1906) 

As  will  be  observed  in  the  above  examples, 
the  meaning  here  is^so  uncertain  that  the  most 
scholarly  modern  editions  make  of  the  lines 
entirely  different  statements.  And  in  neither 
case  has  the  meaning  of  the  statement  been 
finally  established;  it  all  remains  a  matter  of 
conjecture. 

Theobald  (1733)  did  away  with  any  punc- 
tuation after  "intermission"  and  expressed 
himself  so  positively,  and  with  such  disdain 
for  those  who  might  think  there  could  be  such 
a  thing  as  loving  for  intermission,  that  several 
generations  followed  him.  The  resulting  state- 
ment, "intermission  no  more  pertains  to  me, 
my  lord,  than  you,"  failed  to  satisfy  the  intellect 
of  later  scholars  inasmuch  as  its  meaning  is  not 
certain  and  convincing.  And  so  we  find  the 
Globe  text,  whose  readings  have  long  been  the 
standard  of  Shakespearean  scholarship,  putting 


174      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES    IN   SHAKESPEARE 

a  period  after  intermission.  White  and  Staun- 
ton,  in  their  editions,  agree  with  this  rendering. 
But  the  explanations  that  have  been  offered  are 
so  far  from  settling  the  matter  that  the  most 
recent  thoroughly  edited  and  scholarly  edition, 
Neilson's  Cambridge,  goes  back  to  the  rendering 
of  Theobald.  As  for  the  original  sources  of 
the  play,  nothing  can  be  positively  determined 
by  reference  to  them,  because,  with  the  usual 
loose  punctuation  of  the  early  printers,  there  is 
a  comma  after  intermission  —  neither  a  full 
stop  to  end  the  sense  there  nor  yet  a  punctua- 
tion which  would  allow  the  sense  to  go  uninter- 
ruptedly on.  Shakespeare's  meaning  therefore 
we  shall  have  to  decide  for  ourselves. 

My  object  will  be  to  show  that  Shakespeare 
intended  to  have  a  full  stop,  a  period  or  semi- 
colon, after  the  word  "intermission."  If  I  am 
to  settle  the  meaning  so  positively  that  there 
can  be  no  more  doubt  in  the  matter,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  I  must  go  about  it  in  a  way  somewhat 
different  from  the  method  of  mere  verbal  con- 
jecture. We  shall  not,  therefore,  start  in  by 
any  quibbling  over  the  word  "intermission," 
what  it  might  or  might  not  mean.  I  shall 
simply  place  a  period  after  it  and  then  turn 
our  attention  to  the  sentence  that  follows  — 
"No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you." 
If  we  find  that  this  has  a  meaning  which  exactly 
fits  the  situation,  and  which  is,  upon  further 
view,  essential  to  the  scene  as  a  whole,  we  shall 
know  positively  that  it  is  a  sentence  in  itself 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      175 

and  that  therefore  a  period  must  cut  it  off  from 
what  goes  before.  It  will  then  be  time  to  con- 
sider the  sentence  that  goes  before  and  which 
ends  with  "intermission."  Here  again  we  shall 
adopt  the  method  of  showing  the  meaning  not 
merely  in  character  and  immediate  circum- 
stance, but  by  the  requirements  of  the  scene 
itself — the  very  dramatic  exigencies  as  viewed 
by  Shakespeare  himself  in  practical  playwright- 
ing.  In  short,  we  must  go  about  these  matters 
in  a  larger  way;  and  if  the  meaning  exactly  fits 
all  the  requirements,  there  can  be  no  doubt  left. 

First,  then,  let  us  ask  —  What  does  Gratiano 
mean  by  saying,  "No  more  pertains  to  me,  my 
lord,  than  you"? 

This  second  scene  of  the  third  act  shows  us 
the  happy  outcome  of  the  striving  of  several 
lovers  for  the  hand  of  Portia.  We  have  been 
held  in  great  suspense  as  the  suitors  from  various 
countries  came  and  took  their  chances  with  the 
three  closed  coffers  that  decided  their  fate,  and 
finally  our  solicitude  is  all  for  Bassanio  whom 
we  see  that  Portia  loves.  Bassanio  chooses 
the  casket  of  lead  and  is  successful.  Here 
Shakespeare  brings  the  subordinate  characters 
forward;  it  is  a  grand  ensemble  of  happy  people. 
Two  happy  households  stand  united  through 
their  master  and  mistress;  the  general  atmos- 
phere is  that  of  graceful  compliment. 

At  this  happy  climax  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
principal  characters,  we  now  suddenly  find,  to 
fill  the  measure  of  marriage  to  overflowing, 


176      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

that  a  love  episode  has  been  going  on  between 
the  subordinate  characters.  Gratiano,  a  mem- 
ber of  Bassanio's  train,  has  wooed  Portia's 
maid,  Nerissa.  But  Nerissa  has  been  very 
tantalizing  in  her  reply.  She  is  so  utterly  de- 
voted to  her  mistress  that  she  has  refused  to 
say  "yes"  to  any  proposal  that  might  take  her 
away  from  Portia's  household;  therefore  she 
made  her  answer  depend  upon  whether  Bassanio 
chose  the  right  casket.  In  short,  if  Bassanio 
wins  Portia  the  two  households  will  be  united, 
in  which  case  Nerissa  will  accept  Gratiano. 

When  Bassanio  wins,  therefore,  it  is  of  great 
moment  to  Gratiano;  and  he  immediately 
steps  forward  to  ask  his  master's  permission  to 
be  married  at  the  same  time.  He  receives 
most  cordial  assent:  — 

Bassanio.    With  all  my  heart,  so  thou  can'st  get  a  wife. 

Bassanio  has  not  known  about  this  wooing; 
he  does  not  now  know  who  the  lady  is.  Grati- 
ano does  not  now  tell  him  at  once  in  a  mere 
abrupt  statement;  he  proceeds  to  break  the 
news  gradually,  drawing  to  the  point  in  the 
most  beautiful  general  aspect  of  the  situation. 
Bassanio  has  won  him  a  wife  at  the  same  time 
he  won  Portia  for  himself;  therefore  Gratiano 
replies : 

I  thank  your  lordship,  you  have  got  me  one. 
My  eyes,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours: 
You  saw  the  mistress,  I  beheld  the  maid; 
You  loved,  I  loved  for  intermission. 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you. 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      177 

What  Gratiano  means  by  this  last  line 
must  be  evident  enough.  It  is  simply  his  way 
of  saying,  by  way  of  graceful  compliment,  that 
he  has  not  gone  outside  of  Bassanio's  household 
for  a  wife.  When  Bassanio  won  Portia,  her 
household  was  annexed  to  his  own,  and  this  in- 
cluded the  maid  Nerissa;  thus  the  one  who 
pertains  in  so  momentous  a  relation  to  Gratiano 
also  pertains  to  Bassanio.  Gratiano  is  allowing 
Bassanio  to  guess  the  truth  while  he  approaches 
it  with  these  general  statements;  and  in  his 
large  point  of  view  "No  more  pertains  to  me, 
my  lord,  than  you,"  there  is  the  fine  implication 
that  it  has  always  been  thus  between  them. 
Even  in  his  marriage  he  has  not  gone  outside 
of  his  master's  circle  of  interests;  they  are  now 
bound  by  a  further  tie.  This  way  of  looking 
at  things  gives  the  audience  an  added  insight 
of  how  happily  everything  has  turned  out. 
And  could  anything  surpass  this  in  the  way  of 
happy  and  graceful  compliment? 

Gratiano  has  followed  Bassanio  faithfully 
and  made  Bassanio's  interests  paramount  to 
his  own.  The  remark,  therefore,  besides  de- 
scribing the  immediate  circumstances  exactly, 
is  in  strict  keeping  with  the  speaker's  character. 
It  is  this  loyalty  to  another  that  Gratiano  stands 
for  in  the  play.  The  meaning  being  plain,  it 
makes  this  line  a  statement  by  itself;  and  this 
being  the  case  we  see  that  the  preceding  line  is 
a  statement  by  itself  with  a  full  stop  after 


"intermission." 


178      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

We  may  now  inquire  into  the  meaning  of 
this  preceding  line  — 

"You  loved,  I  loved  for  intermission." 

Here  Gratiano  gracefully  acknowledges  that 
his  own  love  affair  is  quite  secondary,  in 
importance,  to  that  of  his  master.  It  is  figura- 
tively referred  to  as  a  mere  time-filling  or  stop- 
gap performance.  Theobald,  who  could  see  no 
sense  in  this  line  as  an  independent  statement, 
rather  disdainfully  challenged  any  one  to  ex- 
plain how  a  person  might  be  said  to  love  "for 
intermission."  Evidently  Theobald  was  not 
aware  that  all  through  Shakespeare's  plays 
there  are  lovers  who  love  for  intermission  and 
clowns  who  clown  for  intermission.  In  recent 
times  critics  have  become  aware  that  all  through 
Shakespeare's  work  there  is  a  regular  succession 
of  light  and  serious  moods  in  alternation,  the 
former  to  give  the  mind  an  intermission  from 
the  latter.  These  clowns  and  lovers  are  sec- 
ondary or  subordinate  to  the  main  action;  and 
in  the  present  case  Shakespeare  seems  to  be 
using  a  word  out  of  his  own  workshop.  Gra- 
tiano, in  suddenly  obtruding  his  own  affairs  in 
the  midst  of  his  master's  happy  love  scene, 
wishes  to  say  that  his  little  adventure  in  matri- 
mony is  a  mere  side-issue,  quite  subordinate, 
to  the  main  event;  he  therefore  speaks  of  his 
own  wooing  as  if  it  were  a  thing  which  would 
be  noted  only  during  the  intervals  of  the  other 
by  way  of  intermission. 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       179 

Shakespeare,  in  introducing  the  extra  pair  of 
lovers  at  the  very  climax  of  the  scene  between 
Portia  and  Bassanio,  had  to  be  careful  not  to 
let  it  rise  to  the  same  plane  of  interest.  It  is 
therefore  introduced  with  a  slight  touch  of 
humor;  for  it  is  certainly  humor  which  affects 
us  when  we  learn  that  the  tantalizing  Nerissa 
regards  love  in  such  a  light  that  she  will  only 
marry  in  case  her  mistress  goes  along.  The 
main  event  is  pleasingly  aggrandized  by  this 
deference  of  maid  and  man;  and  we  are  pleased 
by  this  little  glimpse  of  Gratiano's  good  fortune, 
suddenly  and  shortly  introduced.  Shakespeare 
helped  to  keep  it  on  a  lower  plane  by  having 
Gratiano  tacitly  refer  to  it  as  such;  and  as 
the  episode  is  itself  in  the  nature  of  a  diversion 
from  the  more  serious  scene,  the  dramatist,  by 
this  allusion  to  it  as  an  "intermission"  would 
seem  to  be  speaking  out  of  his  own  playwright- 
ing  policy.  But  however  this  may  be,  we  may 
certainly  understand,  with  no  straining  of 
words,  that  Gratiano  means  that  his  love  affair 
is  a  secondary  matter  which  would  only  attract 
attention  betweenwhiles.  And  this  is  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  self-sacrificing  and  devoted 
character  which  he  upholds. 

Those  who  render  the  passage  so  that  it 
reads,  "for  intermission  no  more  pertains  to 
me,  my  lord,  than  you,"  explain  it  as  meaning 
that  Bassanio  was  incessant  in  love-making, 
and  Gratiano  was  the  same.  We  can  hardly 
believe  that  Shakespeare  introduced  this  pas- 


ISO      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

sage  to  point  out  that  Bassanio  was  always  at 
it  and  that  his  man  Gratiano  was  just  like  him  — 
always  at  it.  Besides  dragging  everything 
down  to  such  a  common  plane,  it  destroys  that 
subordination  and  deference  to  the  main  char- 
acters which  is  so  pleasing  and  so  dramatically 
important.  I  believe  I  have  explained  these 
lines  in  a  way  that  makes  their  intention  clear; 
and  I  have  dwelt  upon  them  somewhat  at 
length  in  the  hope  that  future  editions  may 
punctuate  in  the  way  which  will  admit  of  the 
meaning  which,  I  think,  Shakespeare  intended. 

Earlier  in  this  scene,  at  line  191,  there  is  a 
passage  which  is  the  cause  of  much  disagree- 
ment and  conjecture.  It  is  at  the  point  where 
Gratiano  steps  forward  to  congratulate  Bas- 
sanio upon  his  good  fortune.  Without  taking 
particular  issue  with  any  of  the  various  commen- 
tators, I  might  here  offer  my  understanding  of 
the  passage,  especially  as  it  is  different  from 
any  view  I  have  seen. 

My  lord  Bassanio  and  my  gentle  lady, 
I  wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  wish; 
For  I  am  sure  you  can  wish  none  from  me. 

We  should  here  ask  ourselves  —  as  Shake- 
speare always  asked  himself  in  creating  a  char- 
acter—  What  was  Gratiano  thinking?  He  is 
thinking  that  if  Bassanio  and  Portia  were  to 
have  the  fullest  scope  of  their  desires,  if  they 
were  to  wish  without  limit,  there  is  one  thing 
that  neither  of  them  ever  could  wish.  Neither 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       I  Si 

Portia  nor  Bassanio  could  wish  to  have  the 
other  away.  Consequently  Gratiano  is  willing 
to  let  them  wish  anything  and  he  will  subscribe 
to  it  beforehand;  for  he  is  certain  that  their 
wishing  could  never  result  in  separating  him- 
self from  Nerissa.  For  has  not  Gratiano's 
possession  of  her  been  wholly  dependent  upon 
the  union  of  the  other  two?  This  is  the  very 
basis  of  the  whole  episode. 

It  is  another  beautiful  expression  of  the  four- 
fold happiness  of  the  two  couples;  and  it  is  not 
as  ingenious  as  it  might  seem,  for  Gratiano  is 
well  aware  that  if  Portia  were  ever  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  Bassanio,  away  would  go  Nerissa. 
It  is  a  thought  that  lurks  deep  in  his  heart  — 
but  he  is  not  afraid;  he  is  willing  to  abide  by 
any  fortune  they  might  wish,  for  he  knows  they 
could  not  wish  themselves  apart;  hence  he  runs 
no  risk  of  being  separated  from  his  own  Nerissa. 

Conjecture  upon  this  passage  began  with 
Hanmer  in  1744,  but  the  succeeding  rendi- 
tions failed  to  satisfy.  Staunton  paraphrased  it, 
"For  I  am  sure  you  can  wish  none  which  I  do 
not  wish  you."  Rolfe's  conjecture  is  that 
Gratiano  was  thinking  that  Portia  and  Bassanio 
could  wish  no  joy  away  from  him  "because  you 
have  enough  yourselves." 


A  MASTER  OF  WORDS 

Wolsey.  I  do  profess 

That  for  your  highness'  good  I  ever  labored 
More  than  mine  own;   that  am,  have,  and  will  be  — 
Though  all  the  world  should  crack  their  duty  to  you, 
And  throw  it  from  their  soul;   though  perils  did 
Abound,  as  thick  as  thought  could  make  'em,  and 
Appear  in  forms  more  horrid,  —  yet  my  duty, 
As  doth  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood, 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  break, 
And  stand  unshaken  yours. 

(Henry  VIII,  iii,  2,  192) 

THIS  passage,  according  to  the  Globe  editors, 
contains  the  one  crux  in  Henry  VIII.  They 
mark  it  on  "that  am,  have,  and  will  be."  Gol- 
lancz,  who  shares  the  general  uncertainty  as 
to  whether  the  words  even  "represent"  what 
Shakespeare  wrote,  notes  a  certain  emendation 
as  follows:  —  "Instead  of  'that  am,  have,  and 
will  be,9  it  has  been  proposed  to  read,  'that  am 
your  slave  and  will  be';  this  would  get  rid  of 
the  awkward  have  =  have  been,  but  probably 
the  line  is  correct  as  it  stands." 

Before  starting  to  explain  this  passage  let  me 
ask  the  reader  to  place  a  period  or  colon  after 
will  be,  and  eliminate  the  second  dash  so  that 
all  that  follows  will  be  is  unbroken  in  sense. 
Read  now  this  part,  beginning  with  Though  and 
observe  that  it  is  all  that  could  be  desired  in 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       183 

the  way  of  clear,  logical  statement  and  of  close 
grammatical  structure. 

Next,  try  to  read  it  according  to  the  present- 
day  punctuation,  as  above.  There  is  a  part 
that  comes  between  dashes.  Try  to  connect 
the  parts  of  the  statement  before  and  after  the 
dashes  and  it  will  be  found  impossible  to  make 
sense  out  of  it.  The  point  of  view  is  contra- 
dictory. Shift  the  dash  about,  as  for  instance, 
before  that,  and  try  again.  It  will  be  found 
impossible  to  make  a  cogent  statement  out  of 
the  passage  as  a  whole  by  any  such  means.  It 
would  therefore  be  desirable  to  have  all  this 
part  beginning  with  Though  a  complete  and 
separate  statement.  But  this  would  require  of 
us  to  make  complete  and  separate  sense  out  of 
the  three  lines  preceding;  and  now  the  question 
arises :  Can  this  be  done  ?  And  if  done,  can  it 
be  shown  that  this  way  of  reading  the  passage 
is  what  Shakespeare  intended?  Let  us  devote 
our  attention  then  to  these  first  three  lines. 

The  trouble  here  is  what  the  words  "that  am, 
have,  and  will  be,"  have  been  taken  in  a  wrong 
sense.  That,  as  here  used  is  not  a  relative  pro- 
noun, but  a  demonstrative.  And  the  words 
am  and  have  and  will-be  are  nouns.  These  of 
course  are  the  verbal  auxiliaries  of  English; 
but  here,  instead  of  filling  their  auxiliary  func- 
tions they  are  being  referred  to  as  such  words, 
for  which  reason  they  are  nouns  by  use;  and 
this  is  done  to  emphasize  what  Wolsey  is  pro- 
fessing. 


184      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

It  is  an  interesting  fact  —  or  should  be  to 
one  who  thinks  —  that  the  auxiliaries,  the  help- 
words  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  express  the 
past  and  the  passive,  the  present  and  the  fu- 
ture, are  but  forms  of  to  be  and  to  have.  To 
"have"  means  to  own,  to  possess.  To  "be" 
means  to  exist,  to  live.  They  refer  to  life  and 
property.  As  grammatical  forms  they  arise 
spontaneously  out  of  our  deep  abiding  con- 
sciousness of  these  things  that  are  so  important 
to  us.  They  are  equivalent  to  what  we  mean 
when  we  say  "my  own,"  -  our  lives  and  prop- 
erty. These  things  are  so  near  our  conscious- 
ness that  we  make  the  idea  of  them  our  very 
means  of  expressing  ourselves  in  those  points 
of  view  which  constitute  grammar;  or  language. 
The  two  auxiliaries  together  constitute  what  we 
mean  by  "my  own";  and  in  this  passage  they 
are  used  as  being  equivalent  to  the  words  Wol- 
sey  has  just  said  —  "More  than  mine  own." 

Now  the  question  arises  —  Why  should  Car- 
dinal Wolsey,  in  the  course  of  a  profession  of 
loyalty  to  the  king,  and  especially  at  the  very 
point  where  he  has  begun  to  see  that  the  king 
suspects  him,  go  off  into  a  reference  to  language 
in  the  abstract  —  mere  forms  of  speech.  For 
this  there  are  several  reasons. 

First,  because  it  is  in  character.  The  Cardi- 
nal is  a  man  of  dialectic  training;  his  specialty 
is  speech.  As  the  king  replied  to  a  preceding 
remark,  "You  say  well";  and  again,  replying 
to  the  next  declaration  of  the  churchman: 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       185 

'T  is  well  said  again; 

And  't  is  a  kind  of  good  deed  to  say  well: 
And  yet  words  are  no  deeds. 

When  Shakespeare  creates  a  man  whose  edu- 
cation and  calling  are  essentially  polemical,  as 
Archbishop  Scroop  for  instance,  or  Polonius,  he 
is  careful  to  bring  out  that  mental  bias.  Con- 
sider the  Archbishop,  in  the  position  of  a  sol- 
dier, weaving  subtleties  of  thought  as  he  answers 
Lord  Bardolph  regarding  his  reasons  for  rebel- 
lion, or  Polonius  in  his  wanderings  with  words. 
Now  while  Cardinal  Wolsey  is  a  quite  different 
man  from  these,  he  is  nevertheless  a  man  whose 
education  has  consisted  of  the  study  of  lan- 
guage, both  as  a  linguist  and  as  a  diplomat, 
and  of  points  of  view  that  are  fundamentally 
metaphysical.  Why  then,  should  he  not,  in  an 
occasional  side  remark,  betray  that  lifelong  train- 
ing? Why  should  he  not  drop  a  remark  which 
would  fit  his  character  exactly  though  it  would 
not  be  natural  to  someone  else?  A  dramatist 
must  take  these  opportunities  of  characteriza- 
tion, of  deft  touches  to  the  dialogue  as  circum- 
stances arise.  In  no  other  way  can  a  character 
be  built  up  and  held  lifelike  before  us. 

Second.  Wolsey,  on  the  very  verge  of  being 
accused  of  treason,  must  put  his  profession  of 
loyalty  with  the  utmost  weight.  To  say  that 
"for  your  highness'  good  I  ever  labored  more 
than  mine  own"  is  not  particularly  striking  or 
convincing.  It  is  just  a  commonplace  state- 
ment; "mine  own"  is  a  worn  phrase;  it  does 


1 86      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

not  put  any  vivid  emphasis  on  the  speaker's 
complete,  self-sacrificing  devotion.  How  is 
Shakespeare  going  to  do  this  ?  —  by  a  long  and 
wordy  passage  enumerating  the  Cardinal's  life, 
his  property,  his  every  joy  and  possession? 
Not  here,  for  two  reasons  —  first,  because  such 
a  categorial  and  conscious  emphasis  would  only 
make  the  Cardinal's  declaration  weak,  and, 
second,  because  Shakespeare  being  a  poet, 
must  exercise  his  greatest  power,  which  is  that 
of  condensation.  The  Cardinal  therefore  ap- 
pends to  this  "mine  own,"  a  short  meditative 
remark  intended  to  be  thrown  out  as  synony- 
mous with  it  —  "that  Am,  Have,  and  Will-be." 
What  does  this  say?  It  implies  the  Cardinal's 
life  and  property  and  very  instinct  of  existence. 
It  does  more  than  this;  it  not  only  says  it  but 
puts  signal  emphasis  upon  "mine  own."  For 
this  little  remark  alludes  to  the  fact  that  all 
men,  all  other  men,  have  the  selfish  instinct 
of  clinging  to  life  and  property  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  it  is  part  of  the  very  means  of  expres- 
sion —  of  the  mind  itself.  To  give  such  a  view 
of  what  "mine  own"  means,  as  the  Cardinal 
conceives  it,  is  to  imply  at  one  artful  stroke 
that  he  labors  for  the  king's  good  to  the  for- 
getting of  his  entire  instincts  of  self.  Thus  it 
puts  the  emphasis  in  a  place  where  stress  of 
circumstances  require  such  art,  and  in  a  way 
that  is  quite  in  character. 

Third.     Cardinal  Wolsey,  though  a  church- 
man by  profession  and  training,  was  really  a 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       187 

politician,  and  a  statesman  of  no  mean  capacity. 
He  devoted  his  effort  to  most  practical  and 
worldly  ends,  —  wealth  and  power.  At  this 
particular  stage  of  the  plot,  the  king  is  beginning 
to  have  his  suspicions.  He  expresses  them  to 
Lovell: 

If  we  did  think 

His  contemplation  were  above  the  earth, 
And  fix'd  on  spiritual  object,  he  should  still 
Dwell  in  his  musings:  but  I  am  afraid 
His  thinkings  are  below  the  moon,  not  worth 
His  serious  considering. 

This  shows  what  the  problem  of  political 
success,  as  it  presented  itself  to  the  Cardinal, 
consisted  in.  It  consisted  in  a  studied  simu- 
lation of  being  entirely  absorbed  in  spiritual 
and  scholarly  "musings."  Wolsey  gradually 
worked  forward  to  wealth  and  power  under  cover 
of  learned  and  religious  preoccupation  which 
averted  suspicion  of  his  motives.  Note  that 
line,  "he  should  still  dwell  in  his  musings." 
Shakespeare  thus  shows  what  the  king's  im- 
pression had  been.  We  thus  see  the  daily  prob- 
lem of  the  Cardinal's  life;  it  was  to  assume  the 
guise  of  the  cleric  and  the  bookman  entirely 
engaged  in  things  abstract  and  metaphysical. 
In  order  to  achieve  his  ends  he  had  to  keep 
before  him  the  conveying  of  this  impression. 

We  thus  see  that  such  a  line  as  that  we  are 
engaged  upon  would,  from  purely  practical 
considerations,  be  an  excellent  thing  for  the 
Cardinal  to  say.  It  is  a  side-remark,  a 
"musing,"  and  the  more  seemingly  abstract 


1 88      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

and  preoccupied  with  scholarly  thought  the 
better.  But  what  it  really  says  is  far  from  be- 
ing a  mere  scholar's  digression;  it  says  wonders 
and  in  a  most  effective  way.  The  Cardinal  is 
here  simply  keeping  up  the  impression  he  had 
always  created.  And  how  is  Shakespeare  to 
represent  character  vividly  except  by  such 
strokes  of  dialogue? 

I  have  already  explained,  in  dealing  with 
Polonius'  declaration  of  utter  devotion  to  King 
Claudius,  the  great  power  of  a  preoccupied 
side-remark  (if  studiously  selected)  to  carry 
conviction  of  sincerity  —  to  flatter  or  convince. 
Wolsey  is  here  doing  the  same  thing  and  in  a 
like  connection,  a  declaration  of  loyalty. 

Fourth.  Shakespeare  was  himself  deeply 
interested  in  language  itself  as  betraying  the 
very  fundamental  psychology  of  the  human 
mind,  unconsciously  expressed  —  its  primeval 
native  poetry  and  ways  of  looking  at  things. 
We  have  not  read  Shakespeare  with  much  in- 
sight if  we  have  not  gathered  his  interest  in 
language  itself  as  a  study  in  mind.  This  I  have 
explained  in  another  place  in  this  book.  The 
present  line,  viewed  according  to  my  explana- 
tion, is  just  what  he  would  produce  when  oc- 
casion offered. 

Dialogue  has  its  greatest  power  when,  be- 
sides telling  the  story,  advancing  the  plot,  and 
unfolding  character  in  the  light  of  circumstance, 
it  also  says  something  which  is  intrinsically 
interesting.  This  was  Shakespeare's  way  of 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       189 

working;  he  could  do  all  these  things  at  once 
and  at  the  same  time  strike  out  universal  truths 
which  are  worth  considering  in  themselves. 
Such  a  line  as  this  is  utterly  Shakespearean. 

What  Wolsey  is  saying,  therefore,  is  an  ob- 
servation on  language,  the  sense  of  it  being  as 
if  he  had  put  it  —  "that  Am,  that  Have  and 
that  Will-be."  After  catching  this  grammatical 
construction,  it  is  only  incumbent  upon  us  to 
have  sufficient  insight  to  see  the  deep  truth  in- 
volved and  its  practical  fitness  here  to  plot, 
character  and  circumstance. 

But,  from  what  I  know  of  the  temper  of 
Shakespearean  criticism  today,  especially  in 
America,  this  is  a  view  which  will  not  willingly 
be  received.  Shakespearean  criticism  in  this 
country  and  England  is  nothing  positive  or 
constructive;  it  is  simply  a  self-conscious  pro- 
test against  the  so-called  "metaphysical"  ef- 
forts of  German  criticism.  A  certain  attitude 
having  become  the  fashion,  critics  carry  this 
mere  practical  playwrighting  view  of  Shake- 
speare to  such  an  extreme  that  we  would  not 
allow  him  to  have  an  idea  of  any  kind.  It  is 
a  mistake.  The  common-sense  attitude  toward 
Shakespeare's  text  is  easy  to  assume;  it  explains 
nothing  worth  while  and  is  simply  another 
name  for  mediocrity. 

But  despite  what  I  am  aware  of,  I  am  willing 
to  put  the  present  view  of  Shakespeare's  mind 
on  paper  and  let  it  stand  and  bide  its  time.  In 
the  meantime,  what  are  we  to  conclude  about 


190      SOME    TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

the  passage?  What  we  will  have  to  conclude, 
in  the  end,  is  that  the  line  has  this  meaning  or 
none  at  all.  By  no  means  of  punctuation  can 
this  whole  passage  be  made  one  sentence.  It 
will  remain  a  "crux"  so  long  as  this  is  attempted. 
It  is  destined  never  to  have  any  grammar  or 
any  sense  according  to  past  and  present  methods 
of  procedure.  But  as  soon  as  we  put  a  period 
after  the  first  three  lines  we  have  a  statement 
which  is  clear  and  grammatical  and  in  all  ways 
consistent.  This,  therefore,  is  what  Shake- 
speare wrote  and  what  he  intended  to  have  us 
understand. 

In  Tamburlaine  we  read  (Act  iii,  Scene  3) : 

Well  said,  Theridamas!    speak  in  that  mood; 
For  will  and  shall  best  fitteth  Tamburlaine. 

Here  we  see  Shakespeare's  great  contem- 
porary, Marlowe,  who  was,  more  than  any  other 
poet,  his  model,  using  the  auxiliaries  as  nouns 
for  dramatic  emphasis.  The  italics,  which  sig- 
nalize the  sense,  are  not  my  own.  Mark,  too, 
the  play  on  the  grammatical  term  "mood," 
which  drives  the  sense  home. 

Shakespeare  was  doing  the  same  thing.  But 
he  did  it  in  a  much  greater  way  by  making  the 
words  fit  the  character  of  the  speaker  and  at  the 
same  time  giving  them  organic  relation  to  the 
plot — an  ability  which,  more  than  any  other, 
marks  his  great  dramatic  genius. 

I  have  suggested  that  the  words  be  capital- 
ized—"that  Am,  Have,  and  Will-be."  It 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      191 

would  probably  be  well  for  editors  to  print  them 
also  in  italics.  If  the  reader  finds  that  he  is  not 
now  able  to  catch  the  deep  art  in  this  way  of 
saying  "mine  own,"  let  him  re-read  what  I  have 
said  about  the  nature  of  the  auxiliaries  —  or,  for 
a  fuller  and  more  intimate  exposition,  he  might 
refer  to  what  is  said  about  the  poetry  of  the 
auxiliaries  in  my  "Essays  on  the  Spot." 


PIONED  AND  TWILLED  BRIMS 

Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 

Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats  and  pease; 

Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 

And  fiat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover,  them  to  keep; 

Thy  banks  with  pioned  and  twilled  brims, 

Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims 

To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns;   and  thy  brown  groves, 

Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 

Being  lass-lorn;  thy  pole-clipp'd  vineyard; 

And  thy  sea-marge,  sterile  and  rocky  hard, 

Where  thou  thyself  dost  air. 

(The  Tempest,  iv,  i,  64) 

"Pioned,  adj.,  a  very  doubtful  word,  variously  interpreted  as, 
*  covered  with  the  marsh  marigold,'  or  simply  'dug.'" 

(Globe  ed.) 

"Twilled,  adj.,  a  word  of  which  the  meaning  is  unknown.  It 
has  variously  been  supposed  to  signify  'covered  with  sedge  or 
reeds,'  or  'ridged,'  or  'fringed  with  matted  grass,'  or  'smeared 
with  mud'!"  (Globe  ed.) 

A  COLD  (dispassionate)  nymph  is  spoken  of 
as  being  crowned  in  the  spring.  This  crown 
is,  of  course,  a  wreath.  In  order  to  make  a 
wreath  we  must  weave  together  long  stems  of 
grass  or  reeds  and  stick  the  flowers  in  the  crown 
thus  formed.  This  is  especially  necessary 
when  we  are  working  with  brittle  stemmed  or 
fragile  flowers.  Shakespeare  covers  the  marge 
of  the  stream  with  pionies  (formerly  spelled  so) 
and  twills  or  reeds  and  sedge  with  this  end  in 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       193 

view.  As  the  object  is  to  crown  these  nymphs, 
he  is  careful  to  furnish  the  raw  material. 

Let  us  take  a  more  comprehensive  view  of 
what  Shakespeare  is  doing  here.  He  is  taking 
account  of  every  sort  of  soil  which  the  country 
affords.  In  each  case  he  considers,  first,  the 
nature  of  the  crop,  and,  second,  what  that  crop 
is  used  for. 

He  begins  with  the  "rich  leas."  This  is 
meadow  land  —  not  soggy  or  flat  undrained 
meadow  land  but  such  soil  as  is  necessary  to 
the  production  of  the  grains. 

Next  he  considers  the  "turfy"  mountains. 
These  produce  short  grass  in  patches,  and  this 
grass  serves  for  the  sheep  because  they  can  bite 
shorter  than  any  other  domestic  animal  and 
are  natural  climbers. 

Next  he  speaks  of  the  "flat  meads."  A  flat 
mead,  undrained  and  low  and  unsuited  for 
other  purposes,  produces  a  rank  growth  of 
grass,  usually  marsh  grass,  which  lays  over  in 
one  direction  like  a  thatched  roof.  This 
makes  hay  which  will  serve  "them  to  keep"  — 
it  will  support  the  sheep  in  winter  when  they 
cannot  crop  the  mountainsides.  The  particular 
kind  of  stover  he  means  is  vividly  indicated 
by  its  being  "thatched."  This  is  the  natural 
product  of  a  flat  unmown  mead. 

The  groves,  brown  after  harvest  time,  and  the 
vineyard,  do  not  need  to  be  described  with 
regard  to  their  product,  and  so  with  the  sterile 
sea-marge  which  produces  nothing. 


194      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

He  has  here  taken  account  of  all  the  kinds 
of  land  there  are,  from  an  agricultural  stand- 
point, except  one.  That  is  the  waste  land  at 
the  steep  banks  and  water-soaked  edges  of 
streams.  As  he  has,  in  each  preceding  instance, 
considered  the  kind  of  land,  what  its  products 
are  and  what  the  crop  is  used  for,  it  is  reason- 
able to  expect  that  he  is  going  to  do  the  same 
with  this.  The  waste  land  along  the  edge  of 
the  stream,  where  nature  herself  has  full 
opportunity,  produces  wild  flowers,  sedge  and 
reeds.  These  are  useful  to  make  wreaths  — 
"chaste  crowns"  for  virgin  nymphs. 

Therefore,  without  any  etymological  assist- 
ance at  all,  we  can  see  that  a  "pioned"  bank 
is  one  [covered  with  pionies,  and  a  "twilled" 
bank  is  one  woven  with  reeds  and  sedge. 

In  weaving,  a  twill  or  quill  or  tweel  is  a  small 
hollow  reed  on  which  the  weaver  winds  his 
thread.  Shakespeare  evidently  spoke  of  these 
sedgy  and  reedy  banks  as  twilled  because  the 
word  is  reminiscent  of  weaving;  the  reeds  are 
to  weave  crowns  for  nymphs. 


MY  BROTHER  GENERAL 

Archbishop.      My  brother  general,  the  commonwealth, 
To  brother  born  an  household  cruelty, 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

(2nd  Henry  IV,  iv,  i,  95) 

SPEDDING  wrote  to  the  Cambridge  editors, 
who  were  looking  for  help  in  the  solution  of 
this  passage,  "Conjecture  seems  hopeless  in 
such  a  case."  Clark  and  Wright  accordingly 
said  in  their  notes  to  the  play,  "  On  the  whole 
we  are  of  opinion  that  several  lines  have  been 
omitted,  and  those  which  remain  displaced, 
and  that  this  is  one  of  the  many  passages  in 
which  the  true  text  is  irrecoverable."  In 
keeping  with  this  view,  the  Globe  edition  has 
the  first  line  of  this  passage  signalized  with  the 
dagger;  and  other  editors  seem  to  regard  all 
proposed  readings  as  mere  conjecture. 

The  passage  is  open  to  two  possible  inter- 
pretations. One  is  that  the  Archbishop  is 
addressing  Westmoreland  as  the  General  of 
the  king's  forces;  the  other  is  that  the  Arch- 
bishop, at  the  head  of  his  rebels,  is  referring 
to  the  commonwealth  as  his  brother  in  general 
for  whom  he  intends  to  fight.  Most  editors 
have  taken  the  former  view;  but  more  re- 
cently, Clark's  paraphrase,  which  prefers  the 


196      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

latter,  is  considered,  as  Gollancz  says,  "as 
good  as  any."  The  difficulty  is  that  when  we 
consider  the  Archbishop  using  "general"  simply 
as  the  military  form  of  address  it  is  impossible 
to  account  satisfactorily  for  the  rest  of  the 
sentence;  and  as  to  the  other  view  —  that  the 
Archbishop  is  referring  to  the  commonwealth 
as  his  brother  in  a  general  way  —  no  one  seems 
to  have  been  able  to  prove,  to  the  general 
satisfaction  of  editors,  that  this  is  what  Shake- 
speare intended.  Hence  the  continual  doubt 
and  the  conclusion  that  the  passage  is  hopeless. 

There  ought  to  be  no  doubt  of  the  meaning 
here.  The  use  of  antithesis  is  characteristic 
of  Shakespeare:  it  is  a  device  by  which  he  most 
quickly  defines  his  own  meanings  and  points 
out  to  us,  by  various  arts  in  its  use,  whatever 
he  wishes  particularly  to  set  forth.  In  this 
passage  we  find  "brother  general"  balanced 
off  with  "brother  born";  and  as  there  can  be 
no  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  latter,  so 
there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  sense  of  the 
former.  Again,  the  word  general  calls  our 
attention  to  the  word  particular.  Besides  this, 
"brother  general"  when  understood  as  meaning 
the  commonwealth  or  public  weal,  stands  in 
apposition  to  "household"  or  private  weal. 
There  is  here  a  triple  antithesis  showing  that 
Shakespeare  knew  that  we  would  take  "general " 
in  the  military  sense,  but  wished  to  enforce  it 
particularly  upon  us  in  the  other  sense. 

If  this  is   not   quite   conclusive,  there   is   a 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       197 

question  of  character-drawing  to  consider. 
Shakespeare's  people  must  always  speak  in 
character.  The  speaker  here  is  an  Archbishop. 
He  represents  that  religion  of  which  the  very 
basis  is  brotherhood  as  founded  on  the  father- 
hood of  God.  .  As  a  Christian,  he  is  not  only 
a  brother  to  any  man  as  a  man,  but,  because 
an  Archbishop  had  co-ordinate  political  power 
in  the  English  government,  and  held  this  au- 
thority because  he  represented  Christianity  in 
the  large,  he  would  properly  speak  of  himself 
from  the  very  Christian  standpoint  of  being  a 
brother  in  general  to  the  commonwealth.  This 
point  of  view  would  be  quite  natural  and  would 
serve  to  keep  his  calling  before  us. 

But  a  view  of  the  plot  itself  will  unfold  to  us 
still  more  plainly  the  meaning  of  these  words 
and  of  the  passage  as  a  whole.  These  three 
lines  are  the  Archbishop's  answer  to  a  question 
which  began  sixty-four  lines  before.  It  is  a 
very  biting  question.  The  gist  of  it  is  simply 
an  inquiry  as  to  why  a  man  of  God,  who  stands 
for  the  idea  of  love  and  peace,  should  be  lead- 
ing rebels  to  bloody  war.  The  Earl  of  West- 
moreland speaks  for  a  space  of  twenty-three 
lines  in  asking  it,  piling  on  the  invidious  con- 
trast between  the  Archbishop's  proper  calling 
and  his  present  one. 

The  two  men,  the  Archbishop  and  the  Earl, 
stand  facing  each  other  on  the  field  of  battle, 
or  rather  in  the  rebel  camp.  Aside  from  the 
embarrassment  of  Westmoreland's  caustic  way 


198      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

of  characterizing  his  present  position,  the 
Archbishop  is  in  ticklish  straits  and  he  does 
not  know  exactly  how  to  answer.  His  chief 
grievance  is  that  the  king  has  ignored  him 
and  has  refused  to  give  him  personal  audience 
when  he  wished  to  present  a  written  protest 
and  demand  justice  against  those  who  had 
killed  his  brother  Scroop.  The  king  has  al- 
ways put  him  off  and  dealt  with  him  through 
others,  and  not  as  if  he  were  a  peer  of  the 
realm;  and  this  is  the  real  grievance  that  has 
caused  the  Archbishop  to  raise  forces  for  the 
rebels.  This  being  the  case,  it  will  readily  be 
seen  that  the  Archbishop,  who  still  has  his 
written  complaint  and  insists  upon  presenting 
it  to  the  king,  is  not  going  to  tell  his  troubles, 
willingly,  to  this  man  whom  the  king  has  sent. 
Westmoreland  is  one  of  those  whom  the  prelate 
is  jealous  of. 

Another  feature  of  the  Archbishop's  situa- 
tion is  that  an  important  detachment  has 
failed  to  arrive.  Northumberland  has  failed 
to  come  with  his  forces  and  has  sent  excuses 
instead;  and  this  makes  it  look  dubious  for 
the  rebel  cause.  Besides  this,  the  churchman 
is  essentially  a  diplomat,  anyway,  even  in  his 
making  cause  with  the  rebels;  he  hoped  thus 
to  get  the  church  properly  recognized  by  the 
king  by  this  bold  show  of  force.  He  did  not 
go  to  war  so  much  as  a  soldier  as  a  shrewd 
schemer,  and  with  this  sudden  turn  of  affairs, 
in  which  the  much-expected  Northumberland 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN    SHAKESPEARE       199 

seems  to  have  more  discretion  than  valor,  the 
Archbishop  sees  himself  in  a  precarious  posi- 
tion. There  he  is  at  the  head  of  a  lot  of  rebels, 
and  the  king  demands  an  accounting.  His 
situation  is  full  of  risk;  and  possibly  he  may, 
after  all,  get  what  he  wants  if  he  does  not  seem 
to  weaken  and  at  the  same  time  gives  a  molli- 
fying reply. 

His  answer  is  a  masterpiece  in  the  art  of 
saying  nothing;  or,  at  most,  of  saying  some- 
thing in  such  an  ingenious  and  evasive  way 
that  it  amounts  to  nothing  definite.  All  he 
makes  plain  is  that  he  insists  upon  being  re- 
ceived and  listened  to  by  the  king  himself. 

The  Archbishop's  reply,  of  thirty-five  lines, 
is  an  interesting  study  in  Shakespearean  art. 
He  really  has  nothing  to  say  to  Westmoreland, 
but  he  starts  in  promptly  as  if  he  had.  It  is 
a  case  of  saying  nothing  and  having  to  think 
it  up  as  you  say  it.  He  begins  with  large 
abstract  views  of  human  nature.  He  has  a 
theological  abstraction  all  ready  and  he  feels 
his  way  along  with  great  polemical  ability.  He 
gains  time,  while  he  is  thinking,  by  making  a 
side  allusion  to  the  way  of  King  Richard's 
death,  also  vaguely  and  theologically  con- 
sidered; then  he  gets  into  other  all-inclusive 
abstractions  which  approach  a  little  nearer  to 
his  obscure  grievance.  Suddenly  he  decides 
that  it  is  time  to  seem  more  pointed  and  defi- 
nite; and  so,  as  if  all  this  had  been  a  carefully 
weighed  and  profound  introduction,  he  says, 


2OO      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

"Hear  me  more  plainly."  The  inference  is 
that  he  has  already  said  it  with  scholarly 
depth.  After  this  announcement  of  becoming 
more  plain,  he  goes  on  in  a  way  no  less  rumina- 
tive and  abstract  except  that  he  does  let  it  out 
that  the  king  has  not  given  him  a  proper  hear- 
ing regarding  certain  things  he  has  written 
down,  as  he  says  —  but  the  nature  of  which  he 
does  not  mention. 

The  Archbishop's  whole  course  of  procedure 
had  been  essentially  politic  from  the  first.  The 
king  was  not  according  the  church  the  in- 
fluence it  had  been  used  to  as  a  co-ordinate 
branch  of  the  government;  the  Archbishop 
was  being  superseded  in  power  by  other  noble- 
men; and  this  was  brought  to  an  issue  through 
the  churchman's  attempts  to  get  a  hearing 
regarding  the  case  of  his  brother.  Now  that 
things  had  miscarried  in  war  and  come  to 
a  most  ticklish  pass,  the  Archbishop  had  to 
temporize  in  talk  and  gently  feel  his  way. 
He  could  hardly  reply  that  the  king  him- 
self was  the  cause  of  his  grievance,  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  go  too  far  in  antagonizing 
Westmoreland.  What  sort  of  reply  could  he 
make?  He  had  to  be  careful.  Hence  his 
assuming  so  fully  the  tone  of  a  Christian  and  a 
wise  and  really  peaceful  prelate. 

Some  critics  have  regarded  this  long  rambling 
reply  as  a  key  to  the  Archbishop's  character  — 
weak,  vague-minded  and  verbose.  This  is  a 
mistaken  view.  Such  things  must  be  looked 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      2OI 

at  in  the  light  of  circumstances.  To  not  say 
anything,  and  yet  not  to  insult  Westmoreland 
by  refusing  to  talk  to  him;  to  keep  up  his 
character  as  a  reverend,  beneficent  churchman 
and  yet  make  it  seem  consistent  with  his  present 
bloody  calling;  to  seem  not  to  weaken  and  yet 
hold  the  way  open  for  a  possible  reconciliation 
with  the  king  —  all  this  was  a  difficult  thing  to 
do.  Altogether  the  Archbishop  did  very  well. 
It  behooved  him  to  take  a  shrewd  tack  in  view 
of  the  non-arrival  of  Northumberland's  forces. 

The  reply,  however,  does  not  mollify  West- 
moreland. He  summarily  and  flatly  denies 
that  the  Archbishop  has  been  slighted  in  any 
way  and  that  the  other  noblemen  have  come 
between  him  and  the  king.  Westmoreland's 
answer  is  short  and  forceful. 

The  Archbishop  sees  that  he  has  got  to  seem 
more  definite  and  at  the  same  time  put  a  better 
face  on  his  present  dubious  position.  Here  he 
brings  forth  his  final  artistic  answer  to  the 
question  begun  so  long  before. 

My  brother  general,  the  commonwealth, 
To  brother  born  an  household  cruelty, 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

His  referring  to  the  commonwealth  as  his 
brother  keeps  up  his  beneficent  Christian 
character.  His  statement  that  his  brother  in 
general  has  been  cruel  to  his  brother  born,  and 
his  wording  this  as  an  "household"  cruelty,  is 
a  most  powerful  and  skilful  turning  of  the 
issue  in  a  direction  which  would  excuse  him  in 


2O2      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

his  dangerous  course.  It  is  the  "common- 
wealth" (not  the  king)  that  has  done  him 
wrong  and  needs  chastisement;  and  he,  the 
Archbishop,  is  righting  an  "household"  (not  a 
political}  grievance.  That  is,  it  is  the  killing 
of  his  brother,  a  thing  which  struck  him  in  his 
household,  his  very  home,  which  has  caused 
the  Archbishop  to  take  this  armed  action  for 
justice.  This  is  wonderfully  well  done.  He 
could  not  recede  from  his  real  political  motives 
in  a  shrewder  way;  it  is  entirely  calculated  to 
put  his  whole  revolt  in  an  excusable  light  and 
propitiate  the  king. 

In  reading  such  passages  we  have  to  stop 
and  remind  ourselves  that  they  are  not  history, 
not  the  actual  words  and  scenes  from  the  lives 
of  men,  but  purely  Shakespeare's  invention. 
There  is  a  touch  of  humor  in  the  plight  to 
which  the  Archbishop  is  brought  in  making 
"the  commonwealth"  his  quarrel  "in  particu- 
lar." But  the  venerable  prelate  had  to  make 
some  show  of  getting  down  to  the  final  par- 
ticulars. 

The  passage  as  a  whole  is  very  simple  in 
structure,  as  can  be  seen  by  leaving  out  the 
parenthetical  middle  line.  It  may  be  regarded 
as  abstract  in  its  nature;  but  it  is  none  the  less 
simple  as  a  sentence  and  definite  in  meaning. 

The  punctuation  of  the  Globe  edition  is  as 

My  brother  general,  the  commonwealth, 
To  brother  born  an  household  cruelty, 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      203 

Neilson  (1906)  in  his  Cambridge  edition,  has 
it  differently.  Note  the  period. 

My  brother  general,  the  commonwealth, 
To  brother  born  an  household  cruelty. 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

A  comparison  of  these  two  modern  texts  will 
give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  confusion  that 
still  invests  the  passage  after  so  many  genera- 
tions of  criticism.  Knight  tried  to  make  sense 
of  it  by  dint  of  exclamation  marks, 

How  Clark  and  Wright  could  think  that  any 
lines  had  been  "lost"  I  cannot  imagine.  There 
is  nothing  fragmentary  about  these  well-con- 
nected lines.  If  Shakespeare  had  it  at  all 
different  in  acting,  the  change  consisted  merely 
in  cutting  out  the  parenthetic  line,  as  its  ab- 
sence in  the  Folio  would  indicate. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  HAMLET 

THERE  is  not  so  much  "inconsistency"  in 
the  conduct  of  Hamlet  as  is  generally  supposed. 
To  show  this  I  shall  take  a  number  of  the  most 
contradictory-seeming  passages  and  explain 
them  according  to  the  one  central  idea.  The 
character  and  conduct  of  Hamlet  is  utterly 
natural.  That  is  where  the  greatness  lies. 

Up  to  the  meeting  between  Hamlet  and  the 
ghost,  there  is  nothing  in  his  character  which 
strikes  us  as  unnatural;  but  after  that  strange 
"inconsistencies"  arise  to  puzzle  the  com- 
mentators. All  these  are  easily  explainable. 
We  cannot,  however,  make  the  least  progress  in 
the  understanding  of  the  true  inwardness  of 
the  play  until  we  have  realized  that  Hamlet  is 
a  man  who  has  been  incapacitated  to  have 
emotion. 

This  gives  rise  to  a  peculiar  state  of  affairs. 
To  witness  a  display  of  emotion  upon  the  part 
of  others  was  a  torture  to  him  because  it  re- 
minded him  of  the  faculty  which  he  had  lost. 
It  made  him  feel  poignantly  the  difference 
between  himself  and  other  men,  a  terrible  state 
of  isolation;  and  not  only  that,  it  confronted 
him  continually  with  a  live  contrast  between 
his  former  self  and  the  man  he  had  now  become. 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      205 

Emotion  is  our  source  of  inward  relief.  A 
man  who  cannot  have  it  does  not  want  to  be 
always  faced  by  those  who  can;  it  calls  up  an 
inward  lack  which  is  nothing  less  than  painful. 
Hence  Hamlet's  feeling  that  the  world  was 
"mocking"  or  "outfacing"  him.  It  is  here, 
in  this  inward  state  of  affairs,  that  the  whole 
tragedy  lies. 

Let  us  begin  our  insight  of  this  by  taking 
up  those  impassioned  lines  regarding  Hecuba  — 
the  scene  between  Hamlet  and  the  traveling 
actors  (ii,  2,  576).  Shakespeare  has  here  in- 
troduced, for  the  particular  purpose  in  view, 
the  most  vivid  and  high-wrought  eloquence  of 
primitive  tragedy.  It  is  intended  to  rouse  the 
blood.  Immediately  the  players  are  gone  a 
soliloquy  begins : 

Hamlet.    Ay,  so.  God  buy  ye.  —  Now  I  am  alone. 

A  while  Hamlet  berates  himself  for  not  hav- 
ing a  feeling  over  his  own  real  tragedy  like  that 
the  actors  are  able  to  work  up  over  a  mere 
fancied  one.  Then  note  what  follows,  remem- 
bering always  that  Hamlet  is  alone.  He  breaks 
out  — 

Am  I  a  coward? 

Who  calls  me  villain,  breaks  my  pate  across, 
Plucks  off  my  beard  and  blows  it  in  my  face, 
Tweaks  me  by  the  nose,  gives  my  the  lie  i'  the  throat 
As  deep  as  to  the  lungs,  who  does  me  this? 
Ha! 

This  means  that  Hamlet  is  trying  to  worlf  up 
some  sort  of  emotion  in  himself.  In  order\  to 


2O6      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

do  so  he  imagines  some  insulting  adversary, 
and  he  heaps  upon  himself  the  most  unbrook- 
able  indignities  that  one  man  could  perpetrate 
upon  another.  They  would  move  the  ire  of  a 
slave.  Hamlet,  by  a  strong  effort  of  imagina- 
tion, conceives  such  an  adversary  before  him; 
and  all  because,  being  unpregnant  of  emotion, 
he  hopes  to  stir  up  within  himself  the  begin- 
nings of  a  live  passion.  It  is  like  priming  a 
dry  pump.  By  this  artificial  means  he  hopes 
to  strike  the  live  springs  of  emotion  and  set 
his  human  nature  a-working;  but  it  is  no  use. 
For  after  that  tragic  "Ha"  (as  if  he  were  on 
the  point  of  drawing  his  sword)  it  all  comes  to 
nothing;  and  he  reflects  — 

Swounds,  I  should  take  it;   for  it  cannot  be 
But  I  am  pigeon-liver'd  and  lack  gall 
To  make  oppression  bitter,  — 

But  Hamlet  does  not  give  up  so  easily. 
From  this  attempt  to  rouse  his  feelings  with  an 
imaginary  opponent  he  now  turns  his  mind  to 
his  real  enemy,  the  king.  He  makes  a  grand 
effort  at  passionate  feeling,  as  can  be  seen  by 
the  tirade  of  epithet  he  launches  himself  into. 

Bloody,  bawdy  villain! 

Remorseless,  treacherous,  lecherous,  kindless  villian! 
O,  vengeance! 
Why,  what  an  ass  am  I! 

The  effort  fails  —  it  is  mere  words.  The 
epithets  strike  Hamlet  as  vain  and  ridiculous 
because  they  do  not  lead  on  to  action;  which 
is  to  say,  they  have  not  moving  passion  behind 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      2O7 

them.  Hamlet  is  a  man  who,  as  I  have  said, 
has  been  incapacitated  to  have  emotion. 

We  must  remember,  in  reading  this  outburst, 
that  it  is  not  genuine;  it  is  a  mere  experimental 
attempt.  Shakespeare  has  artfully  paved  the 
way  for  this  interpretation  by  preceding  it  with 
the  effort  at  feeling  against  an  imaginary 
opponent.  That  was  a  mere  trumped-up  emo- 
tion; and  so  is  this.  Shakespeare  is  very 
organic  in  his  sequences. 

We  have  now  considered  a  very  large  unit 
in  the  organism  of  the  play  as  a  whole;  and  the 
principal  idea  in  this  unit,  which  includes  the 
player's  lengthy  speech  and  Hamlet's  experi- 
ments afterward,  is  to  enforce  upon  us  deeply 
the  idea  of  Hamlet's  incapacity  to  have  emo- 
tion —  a  faculty  which  he  had  lost.  We  see 
that  he  feels  the  lack  poignantly;  the  very  inner 
hollowness  is  a  pain.  It  was  done  very  sys- 
tematically; first  by  a  strong  contrast  between 
the  mere  actor  who  could  have  "tears  in  's 
eyes "  over  nothing  but  the  live  working  of  his 
own  sources  of  emotion,  and  the  incapacity  of 
Hamlet  to  get  such  relief  even  when  he  re- 
quired it  in  actual  life.  And  the  complete 
artificiality  of  his  tirade  against  the  king  is 
enforced  upon  us  by  preceding  it  with  an 
effort  which  is  unmistakably,  ostensibly,  arti- 
ficial. Shakespeare  works  in  large  units  which 
are  organic  in  every  small  detail,  and  which 
in  turn  make  up  an  organic  whole.  We  can- 
not read  him  to  the  best  advantage  unless  we 


208      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

have  an  eye  for  the  central  ideas  which  these 
larger  units  or  divisions  are  primarily  engaged 
upon.  The  richness  of  the  poetry,  and  the 
multiplicity  of  side-lights  which  are  struck  out, 
must  not  blind  us  to  the  masterly  progress,  the 
larger  main  trend. 

But  Shakespeare  could  do  more  than  one 
thing  at  a  time;  these  actors  are  going  ulti- 
mately to  be  used  for  the  shrewd  detection 
of  the  king's  guilty  conscience.  I  must  point 
out,  however,  in  order  that  the  reader  may  not 
get  issues  confused,  that  this  purpose  has 
hardly  been  hinted  at.  So  far  the  actors  serve 
purely  for  the  effect  we  have  been  observing; 
but  suddenly,  when  Hamlet's  efforts  at  feeling 
have  proved  vain,  he  says,  "Foh!  about  my 
brains,"  and  then  the  action  takes  a  new  turn. 
Their  further  purpose  is  revealed  to  us.  For 
as  Hamlet  lives  in  the  cold  light  of  reason, 
bereft  of  all  other  relief,  he  is  quite  at  home  in 
a  deep,  canny  piece  of  detective  work. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  another  very  inconsist- 
ent-seeming passage  and  note  the  same  mean- 
ing behind  it.  I  refer  to  the  passage  containing 
that  beautiful  description,  "this  majestical 
roof  fretted  with  golden  fire"  (ii,  2,  310). 
Hamlet  says  to  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern, 
"I  have  of  late  —  but  wherefore  I  know  not  — 
lost  all  my  mirth,  foregone  all  custom  of  exer- 
cise; and  indeed  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my 
disposition  that  this  goodly  frame,  the  earth, 
seems  to  me  a  sterile  promontory;  this  most 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN  SHAKESPEARE      2O9 

excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look  you,  —  this 
brave  overhanging  firmament,  this  majestical 
roof  fretted  with  golden  fire  —  why,  it  appears 
no  other  thing  to  me  than  a  foul  and  pestilent 
congregation  of  vapours." 

How,  the  reader  must  ask,  could  Hamlet 
spontaneously  produce  so  surpassing  a  de- 
scription —  one,  indeed,  which  moves  our  own 
feelings  in  its  beautiful  and  joyous  conception 
of  the  universe  —  if,  as  he  says,  he  has  not  the 
least  feeling  for  it  ?  If  he  does  not  see  it  that 
way,  but  is  filled  only  with  the  vision  of  a, 
"sterile  promontory"  and  a  "foul  and  pesti-^ 
lent  congregation  of  vapours,"  what  could 
prompt  him  to  such  sufficing  eulogy?  Is  this 
true  to  human  nature?  Hamlet  has  here  con- 
tradicted himself  twice. 

But  note  what  follows : 

What  a  piece  of  work  is  man!  How  noble  in  reason!  How 
infinite  in  faculty!  In  form  and  moving,  how  express  and  ad- 
mirable! In  action  how  like  an  angel!  In  apprehension  how  like 
a  god!  The  beauty  of  the  world!  The  paragon  of  animals! 
And  yet,  to  me,  what  is  this  quintessence  of  dust?  Man  delights 
not  me,  —  no,  nor  woman  neither,  though  by  your  smiling  you 
seem  to  say  so. 

Again  we  must  ask  the  same  question.     How 
could  any  man  be  prompted  to  such  full  expres-1!/ 
sion  of  admiration  if,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
did  not  feel  the  delight  he  expresses? 

Shakespeare  is  here  enforcing  upon  us  again 
the  fact  that  Hamlet  had  lost  his  capacity  for 
emotion.  I  say  lost,  because  he  formerly  had 
it.  He  is  here  speaking  out  of  his  former  self  — 


2IO      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

the  remembrance  of  what  the"  world  once  was 
to  him.  He  is  doing  his  best,  in  all  these  words, 
to  stir  up  some  vestige  of  his  too-well-remem- 
bered aesthetic  pleasure  in  the  universe;  but 
it  is  no  use.  This  is  the  most  tragic  phase  of 
his  situation  in  life  —  to  be  a  dead  self.  His 
intellectual  faculties  are  unimpaired;  he  sees 
how  these  things  might  be  enthusiastically 
viewed  because  it  is  out  of  his  own  former 
experience;  but  the  saying  of  it  does  not  move 
him.  His  emotions  are  but  a  memory.  We 
thus  see  that  this  speech  is  quite  true  to  nature, 
utterly  consistent. 

Before  we  proceed  to  a  further  example,  the 
reader  will  probably  be  interested  to  observe 
that  in  this  instance,  as  in  the  one  we  have  just 
been  considering,  Shakespeare  has  paved  the 
way  to  the  point  of  view.  Wishing  the  mind 
to  follow  a  certain  course  he  takes  hold  of  it 
at  once  and  creates  the  point  of  view  before- 
hand, as  it  were,  in  a  short  unmistakable  form. 
Having  forced  the  mind  to  take  that  attitude, 
he  now  leads  it  through  a  slightly  longer  course 
of  the  same  point  of  view.  And  now,  having 
got  us  going  in  the  direction  he  desires,  so  that 
we  not  only  read  but  understand  while  we  read, 
he  launches  into  the  full  rich  expression  which 
is  necessary  to  attain  life  and  vigor.  That  is 
to  say,  Hamlet  at  first  expresses  his  contra- 
dictory state  of  mind  very  briefly — "this 
goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile 
promontory."  This  we  seize  at  once.  He 


SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      211 

then  goes  through  this  point  of  view  in  just  a 
little  longer  form:  —  "this  most  excellent  can- 
opy, the  air,  look  you  —  this  brave  o'erhang- 
ing  firmament,  this  majestical  roof  fretted  with 
golden  fire  —  why,  it  appears  no  other  thing 
to  me  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of 
vapours."  Now  we  are  following  him;  and  he 
lets  loose  that  replete  and  ascending  passage 
on  the  beauty  of  man,  which  finally  ends  the 
same;  and  we  catch  the  point  of  view  with  the 
rapidity  and  ease  so  necessary  to  the  drama. 
It  is  the  rapidity  of  anticipation.  This  is  a 
point  ^  in  the  technique  of  writing  which  few 
writers  understand.  But  all  great  writing 
should  have  this  devised  ease,  whether  it  be 
drama  or  not. 

The  "psychology"  of  Shakespeare  is  usually 
conceived  merely  as  an  examination  of  his 
characters  to  determine  whether  they  are  true 
to  life  or  not.  But  there  is  a  psychology  of 
writing;  and  this  is  where  Shakespeare  is  deepest 
of  all.  He  ribt  only  understood  human  nature  in 
his  characters  but  in  us  as  an  audience  to  be 
affected  —  the  art  of  construction.  To  be- 
tray us  into  emotional  climaxes,  we  must 
first  be  led  along  and  prepared  by  certain 
insights,  and  the  way  to  these  must  be  paved 
infallibly  with  a  sequence  of  intellectual  steps; 
and  this  is  plot-making  in  its  deeper  and  more 
difficult  sense.  It  is  construction,  an  art  of 
which  Shakespeare  was  the  greatest  master. 
The  "plot"  of  a  story  is  an  easy  thing  as  com- 


212      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

pared  with  its  handling,  for  this  latter  is  the 
plot  against  us;  and  Shakespeare,  wherever  he 
got  the  raw  materials  for  his  stories,  was  the 
greatest  plotmaker  who  ever  lived.  He  makes 
us  take  steps  which  we  are  scarcely  aware  of, 
and  an  infallible  psychology  permeates  the 
finest  details  of  his  writing.  The  one  end  in 
view  advances,  not  merely  through  construc- 
tion in  its  larger  phases,  but  in  the  finest 
details  of  the  work.  The  psychology  of  the 
audience,  or  of  the  writing  art,  is  the  deepest 
of  all;  and  this  phase  of  his  profundity  has  not 
been  very  successfully  dealt  with.  Most  of  his 
commentators  do  not  seem  even  to  be  aware 
of  it. 

Continuing  now  the  line  of  thought  with 
which  we  started  out,  let  us  consider  the  scene 
at  Ophelia's  grave.  Here,  it  would  seem,  is 
inconsistency  in  double  ply.  We  may  regard 
it  as  contradictory  in  two  regards. 

First:  Does  Hamlet  love  Ophelia?  If  he 
does  not,  why  this  display  of  towering  passion 
at  her  grave?  He  declares  that  he  loved  her 
more  than  "forty  thousand  brothers."  If,  then, 
his  love  for  her  has  continued  all  this  while,  so 
that  he  now  feels  it  with  such  overwhelming 
passion,  what  are  we  to  think  of  his  preceding 
course  of  conduct  toward  her?  In  the  third 
act  he  evidently  fell  completely  out  of  love 
with  her;  and  having  thrown  her  over  he  has 
not  given  her  the  least  thought  since.  There 
he  consigned  her  with  the  coldest  deliberation 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN    SHAKESPEARE      213 

to  a  "nunnery"  —  and  that  so  that  she  shall 
not  become  a  breeder  of  sinners.  We  are  there 
shown  at  considerable  length  that  he  has  come 
to  regard  her  merely  in  the  light  of  all  women, 
whom  he  has  perceived  to  be  vain,  trifling  and 
ungenuine.  He  rates  her  with  the  general  run 
of  womankind,  so  that  she  is  no  more  than  any 
other  of  her  sex  to  him.  And  when  we  realize 
that  she  was  wholly  unfitted  to  sympathize 
with  him,  and  that  she  handed  back  his  pres- 
ents for  no  reason  of  her  own  and  even  con- 
sented to  act  as  a  stool-pigeon  for  those  who 
were  spying  upon  him,  we  can  readily  under- 
stand how  Hamlet  would  feel  that  he  had  over- 
rated her.  No  man  could  make  it  more 
apparent  than  Hamlet  does,  that  he  has 
completely  lost  xhis  delusions  over  a  woman. 
How  then  are  we  to  harmonize  this  with  the 
theory  that  at  her  graveside  he  still  loves  her? 
This  has  been  a  difficult  point  for  critics  to 
handle. 

The  theory  generally  accepted  is  that  Ham- 
let's "bitterness"  to  Ophelia  is  not  genuine. 
He  sees  that  their  ways  in  life  must  part;  he 
therefore  parts  with  her  very  harshly  as  being 
the  most  merciful  course  of  procedure.  As 
their  love  must  come  to  an  end,  he  takes  steps 
to  put  her  out  of  love  with  him.  This  theory 
might  be  all  very  well  were  it  not  for  what 
follows  in  their  relations  thereafter.  They 
mingle  freely  together;  Hamlet  does  not  avoid 
her  but  deliberately  chooses  to  lie  with  his 


214      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

head  in  her  lap  at  the  play;  and  then  ensues 
what  is  known  as  a  part  of  "Hamlet's  cruelty 
to  Ophelia."  He  trifles  with  her,  even  flaunts 
her;  he  leads  her  shrewdly,  and  to  his  evident 
amusement,  into  a  recognition  of  lecherous 
allusions  which  make  a  mockery  of  her  studied 
conception  of  modesty.  If  any  man  ever 
showed  that  he  considered  a  woman  a  mere 
shallow  pretense  it  is  here.  Having  thrown 
her  over,  he  now  shows  every  evidence  that  he 
takes  her  with  the  utmost  lightness.  All  this 
goes  farther  than  there  could  be  any  reason 
for  if  his  intentions  toward  her  are  so  very 
beneficent.  It  is  a  critical  theory  without 
one  word  of  Shakespeare's  to  support  it;  and 
all  to  harmonize  his  actions  with  the  theory 
that  he  continued  to  love  her  and  expressed 
that  love  at  her  grave.  In  the  meantime  she 
has  been  dropped  so  completely  out  of  his  life 
that  he  has  not  even  thought  of  her.  He  has 
killed  her  father  without  so  much  as  a  word 
regarding  its  effect  upon  her;  and  this  is  less 
care  than  he  bestowed  on  Laertes,  with  whose 
grief  he  sympathized.  After  that  trifling  and 
mocking  bout  between  them  at  the  court 
play,  Ophelia  seems  to  drop  entirely  out  of  his 
thoughts;  and  suddenly  we  are  called  upon  to 
believe,  in  the  scene  at  the  grave,  that  he  still 
loves  her!  In  this  case  we  could  wish  that 
Shakespeare  himself  had  thrown  a  little  light 
on  so  important  a  point.  It  is  not  his  way  to 
be  so  over-subtle  —  carrying  a  point  to  such  an 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      215 

extreme  point  of  neglect  that  it  is  no  point  at 
all.  As  will  be  seen,  much  depends  upon  our 
interpretation  of  his  conduct  at  her  grave;  for 
all  this  inconsistency  arises  out  of  the  critical 
theory  that  he  is  here  affected  by  his  love  of  her. 
But  there  is  another  inconsistency  in  his  con- 
duct which  strikes  a  reader  even  more  strangely. 
Why  this  sudden  change  of  front  toward  Laer- 
tes? Hamlet  has  not  had  any  bitterness  of 
feeling  toward  Ophelia's  brother,  but  rather  the 
opposite.  When  he  first  sees  him  in  this  scene 
he  speaks  of  him  as  "a  very  noble  youth." 
And  as  we  see  later  in  the  play,  Hamlet  is  so 
far  from  having  any  hard  feelings  toward  Laer- 
tes that  he  feels  actual  sympathy  for  him  over 
the  loss  of  his  father.  Shakespeare,  in  order  to 
make  this  state  of  affairs  plain  to  us,  is  at  pains 
to  have  Hamlet  explain  the  basis  of  his  kindly 
feeling  toward  Laertes  —  "For  by  the  image  of 
my  cause  I  see  the  portraiture  of  his."  That 
is  to  say,  Hamlet,  having  lost  a  father  whom  he 
loved,  can  appreciate  Laertes'  feeling  over  the 
loss  of  his  own  father,  whom  Hamlet  inadver- 
tently killed.  Hamlet  is  therefore  willing  to 
go  to  almost  any  extreme  of  apology  toward 
Laertes;  he  does  not  blame  him  for  feeling  bitter 
but  tries  to  make  his  own  irresponsibility  under- 
stood. He  has  so  much  respect  and  kindliness 
of  feeling  toward  Laertes  that  he  prizes  his  good 
opinion  and  is  willing  to  make  any  sort  of  al- 
lowance for  Laertes'  bitterness  toward  him. 
Now  in  this  scene  at  the  grave,  Hamlet's  feel- 


2l6      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

ings  are  the  same;  his  first  thought  upon  seeing 
Laertes  is  that  he  is  "a  very  noble  youth,"  —  a 
comment  that  is  certainly  spoken  in  a  mood 
of  commendation. 

But  note  what  suddenly  takes  place.  While 
Hamlet  and  Horatio  are  lying  hidden  among 
the  tombstones,  their  presence  being  quite  un- 
known to  the  people  at  the  grave,  Laertes  is 
very  naturally  overcome  with  grief  as  they 
prepare  to  throw  the  dirt  upon  his  sister,  and 
he  expresses  this  grief  feelingly.  Immediately 
Hamlet  leaps  from  his  hiding  place,  jumps  into 
the  grave  and  accuses  Laertes  of  doing  all  this 
simply  to  "outface"  him.  Whereas  it  is  made 
plain  that  Laertes  could  not  have  known  that 
Hamlet  was  anywhere  about!  Hamlet's  mood 
is  not  one  of  sorrow  or  of  love  for  Ophelia,  but 
purely  of  rage  at  Laertes  who  would  thus  "out- 
face" him,  and  of  disdain  for  Laertes'  expres- 
sions of  grief! 

True,  Laertes  had  called  down  curses  upon 
the  head  of  him  who  was  responsible  for  the 
death  of  his  sister;  and  this  certainly  had  its 
effect  upon  Hamlet.  But  this  does  not  make 
the  inconsistency  any  the  less.  Laertes  was 
simply  indulging  in  natural  emotion  over  the 
loss  of  his  sister.  Therefore  how  are  we  to 
account  for  the  strange  mood  in  which  Hamlet 
took  this  —  his  inconsistent-seeming  point  of 
view?  Even  the  theory  that  Hamlet  still  loved 
Ophelia  does  not  make  it  clear  and  plain.  If 
anything,  it  would  make  Hamlet  sympathetic 


SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      217 

with  Laertes'  grief;  for  by  the  image  of  his  own 
cause  he  could  portray  the  other.  But  Hamlet 
does  not  take  it  in  that  spirit;  he  is  personally 
affronted.  To  say  that  Hamlet  was  insane 
would  be  an  easy  way  of  straightening  out 
many  things;  but  this  theory  has  been  cast 
aside  by  critics  of  any  insight  or  standing. 
Shakespeare  has  taken  too  much  pains  to  show 
that  Hamlet  is  not  insane;  the  theory  is  unten- 
able. Insane  men  do  not  make  good  drama 
because  their  motives  are  so  inconsistent  and 
senseless  that  their  actions  cannot  hold  our 
interest  in  the  plot.  It  therefore  remains  to 
account  for  this  scene  upon  Shakespearean 
grounds. 

It  is  all  very  easy  to  understand  providing  we 
have  gathered  what  Shakespeare  has  set  before 
us  in  the  preceding  acts.  He  has  shown  us  the 
same  thing  in  less  complicated  situations;  and 
if  we  have  caught  it  in  the  simpler  expositions 
we  will  easily  enough  recognize  the  central  idea 
in  this  place,  where  Hamlet  finds  himself 
worked  upon  by  more  complex  influences. 
Note  the  high-sounding  and  really  ridiculous 
feats  which  Hamlet  proposes  the  moment  the 
two  have  been  dragged  from  each  other's  grasp. 
Here  is  the  same  melodramatic  "Swounds" 
which  we  saw  in  a  preceding  case  of  the  same 
nature. 

'Swounds,  show  me  what  thou'lt  do. 

Woo't  weep?     Woo't  fight?    Woo't  fast?    Woo't  tear  thyself ? 

Woo't  drink  up  eisel?     Eat  a  crocodile? 


21 8      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

I'll  do't.     Dost  thou  come  here  to  whine? 
To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave? 
Be  buried  quick  with  her  and  so  will  I; 
And  if  thou  prate  of  mountains,  let  them  throw 
Millions  of  acres  on  us  till  our  ground 
Singeing  his  pate  against  the  burning  zone, 
Make  Ossa  like  a  wart!     Nay,  an'  thou'lt  mouth 
I'll  rant  as  well  as  thou. 

In  the  concluding  lines,  as  in  preceding  in- 
stances, we  see  his  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
what  he  is  saying  is  mere  words.  Hamlet  is  a 
man  who  has  lost  his  capacity  to  have  emotion. 
With  the  whole  tragedy  of  his  life  facing  him 
in  the  persons  of  the  king,  the  queen,  and 
Ophelia,  and  the  spectacle  of  the  relief  that 
they  find  in  tears  and  wordy  tributes,  he  is 
driven  to  do  something  to  find  surcease  from 
the  pent-up  pain  around  his  own  blighted 
heart.  He  does  his  best  so  far  as  words  and 
activity  go;  but  that  is  all  it  is.  He  starts 
out  with  challenges  that  are  reasonably  natural 
if  artificial  —  "Woo't  weep?  Woo't  fight?" 
He  increases  the  force  of  his  propositions,  as  if 
he  felt  their  ineffectiveness,  until  finally  it  be- 
comes ridiculous;  and  suddenly  he  sees  that  it 
is  hollow-hearted  rant.  "Woo't  drink  up  eisel? 
Eat  a  crocodile?" 

The  psychology  of  his  strange  conduct  is  as 
follows.  Hamlet's  heart,  early  in  the  play,  had 
been  completely  broken.  He  had  terrible  in- 
sights of  the  world  as  it  is;  and  the  shock  of 
this,  upon  so  noble  a  nature  as  Hamlet's,  had 
caused  the  very  bottom  to  drop  out  of  his 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      219 

soul.  Through  the  experience  of  hard  facts, 
not  morbid  imaginings,  he  had  lost  his  faith  in 
womankind,  his  pride  in  his  family  and  himself, 
his  whole  set  of  high  ideals  regarding  the  world. 
He  had  lost  all  his  youthful  delusions  —  his 
ability  to  fall  in  love,  his  ambitious  aspiring  to 
worldly  honor,  even  that  moving  passion  for 
wild  justice,  revenge;  and  in  its  place  was  a 
terrible  deep  insight  of  the  hypocrisy,  the  un- 
certainty, the  self-delusions  and  unfealty  of 
mankind.  Tragedy  had  struck  him  in  the  only 
place  it  can  strike  a  man  utterly  —  at  home. 
One  moment  he  was  an  aspiring  youth  with 
the  highest  ideals  and  the  most  charitable  ex- 
cuses for  mankind;  the  next  moment  he  was 
hit  a  blow  on  the  very  heart  and  he  found  him- 
self viewing  the  wreck  of  a  world.  In  his  head 
was  the  clear  penetrating  light  of  hard  fact, 
the  insight  of  things  as  they  are;  and  in  his 
heart  a  dull  unbearable  pain.  He  was  driven 
to  the  point  where  he  would  rather  be  out  of 
the  world  than  in  it;  for  life  was  a  mocking  pain. 
In  tears  there  is  no  cure  for  such  a  pain.  The 
soft  emotion  of  tears  will  not  erase  it;  sighs 
will  not  blow  it  away.  For  this  is  to  be  a  dead 
self.  In  the  death  of  a  friend  we  see  the 
mysterious  work  of  nature  and  in  the  mystery 
there  is  hope.  Tears  are  its  cure.  Emotion 
repays  itself  for  the  loss  and  we  cease  to  weep. 
We  feel  that  all  is  well  and  go  on  our  way  en- 
riched in  the  treasures  of  our  heart.  But  when 
a  man  mourns  for  what  he  knows,  there  is  no 


220      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

remedy,  no  relief.  For  what  a  man  knows  in 
his  heart  he  cannot  forget.  To  have  such 
knowledge  as  Hamlet  had,  and  in  the  way  he 
had  it,  is  to  pursue  a  living  death.  The  pain 
is  numb,  hollow  and  dumb;  and  when  we  see 
others  taking  the  benefit  of  human  emotion  it 
rises  and  gripes  us.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then, 
that  when  Hamlet  saw  Laertes  revelling  in  a 
very  luxury  of  grief  over  a  dead  sister,  and  thus 
finding  relief  from  a  pain  not  half  so  deadly  as 
his  own,  he  should  feel  that  the  world  and  the 
very  scheme  of  things  had  there  conspired  to 
pain  and  mock  him.  And  that  it  should  all 
seem  a  travesty  as  compared  with  his  own 
case  ?  For  him  there  was  no  such  relief  —  for 
he  could  not  feel  the  emotion.  Once  we  take 
this  view,  which  is  in  harmony  with  the  whole 
drift  of  the  play,  Hamlet's  words  become  sin- 
gularly luminous  and  consistent. 

Dost  thou  come  here  to  whine? 
To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave? 

"To  outface  me"  —  If  we  have  understood 
what  Hamlet  meant  and  felt  when,  after  the 
interview  with  the  Captain  of  Fortinbras' 
troops,  he  says,  "How  all  occasions  do  inform 
against  me,"  we  shall  hardly  need  an  explana- 
tion here.  Hamlet  was  outfaced  by  Fortinbras' 
youthful  activity  because  it  made  a  mockery  of 
his  own  lack  of  motive-power;  he  was  outfaced 
by  the  passion  of  the  traveling  player  because 
it  reminded  him  of  his  own  inability  to  have 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN  SHAKESPEARE      221 

such  feelings;  he  was  outfaced  when  Rosen- 
crantz  and  Guildenstern  tried  to  find  out  his 
true  state  of  mind  because  it  recalled  his  more 
youthful  feelings  toward  the  world  and  reminded 
him  that  he  had  even  lost  the  power  of  admira- 
tion. And  here  at  the  grave  we  see  the  most 
painful  outfacing  of  all.  It  is  all  of  a  piece, 
and  we  must  understand  this  scene  in  the  sense 
that  Shakespeare  has  led  up  to  and  prepared 
us  for.  These  people  had  not  outfaced  him 
purposely;  they  were  the  unconscious  instru- 
ments in  the  hands  of  fate.  In  like  manner 
Laertes,  not  knowing  he  was  about,  outfaced 
him  with  the  power  of  consoling  grief.  The 
whole  world  outfaced  Hamlet  because  his  in- 
sights had  placed  him  in  a  terrible  isolation; 
he  was  a  man  apart  from  the  race.  Nothing 
could  be  calculated  to  bring  it  home  to  him 
with  more  terrible  power  than  this  scene  at  the 
grave. 

Hamlet  did  not  feel  any  genuine  anger  against 
Laertes.  There  is  no  more  rancor  than  he  felt 
toward  Horatio  when  he  said  to  him,  "Do  not 
mock  me,  fellow  student."  Why  then  this 
indignation,  this  mood  of  rage?  The  conjunc- 
tion of  affairs  at  the  grave  was  such  as  to  ag- 
gravate his  soul  into  a  nameless  agony,  an 
unbearable  pain  which  seemed  all  the  more 
gratuitous  because  he  had  done  nothing  to  merit 
it.  He  was  being  tortured  and  mocked  beyond 
all  reason;  and  when  a  man  is  being  pained  he 
naturally  takes  action  against  the  agent  of  his 


222      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

torture.  His  indignation  is  against  the  state 
of  affairs,  and  his  protest  takes  the  form  of 
anger  because  it  could  take  no  other.  Hamlet 
does  not  even  offer  combat  when  the  enraged 
Laertes  grasps  him  by  the  throat;  he  says 
rather : 

I  prithee,  take  thy  fingers  from  my  throat, 
For,  though  I  am  not  splenetive  and  rash, 
Yet  have  I  in  me  something  dangerous, 
Which  let  thy  wiseness  fear.     Away  thy  hand. 

The  "something"  is  desperation,  not  anger. 
There  is  here  something  of  the  benign  attitude 
of  Romeo  toward  Paris  when  he  was  himself  on 
the  point  of  suicide,  "Good,  gentle  youth,  tempt 
not  a  desperate  man."  All  this  is  very  natural 
and  consistent.  Hamlet  is  stung  to  despera- 
tion, and  he  regards  Laertes'  high-sounding 
sorrow  as  a  mere  travesty  in  the  light  of  his  own 
deeper  pain;  but  yet  he  has  no  personal  feeling 
against  him. 

It  is  a  theory  which  persists  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another  that  Hamlet  has  continued  to 
love  Ophelia  and  that  he  is  affected  by  his 
present  love  for  her  at  the  grave.  In  this  case 
we  could  wish  not  only  that  Shakespeare  had 
referred  to  such  a  state  of  affairs  during  all  the 
interim,  but  that  he  would  give  some  hint  of  it 
here.  Hamlet  does  not  love  Ophelia.  Instead 
of  any  indication  of  sorrow  or  assuaging  tears, 
what  have  we?  We  have  sorrow  referred  to 
in  the  mere  form  of  a  challenge.  Hamlet  ban- 
ters Laertes  to  compete  with  him  in  various 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      223 

deeds  —  "Woo't  weep?  Woo't  fight?"  Tears, 
in  Hamlet's  mind,  are  put  on  such  an  artificial 
basis  of  effort  that  they  are  rated  in  with  fight- 
ing, with  drinking  up  vinegar  and  eating  a 
crocodile.  Usually,  when  people  feel  sorrow, 
they  do  not  regard  tears  as  a  difficult  deed  to  be 
essayed  in  manly  competition;  they  shed  the 
tears.  Laertes'  exhibition  of  luxurious  emotion 
had  "outfaced"  Hamlet;  the  world  had  again 
mocked  him  and  touched  him  to  the  quick.  If 
Hamlet  could  have  wept  he  would  —  even  as 
he  would  have  drunk  the  vinegar  or  eaten  the 
crocodile  if  it  could  have  given  his  heart  relief. 
He  says  "I  loved  Ophelia."  True  enough,  he 
did  —  before  he  found  out  that  she  was  not  his 
ideal.  He  had  lost  her  long  before;  and  we  do 
not  mourn  twice  for  the  dead.  It  is  merely 
"the/<2zY  Ophelia"  that  is  being  buried  here. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  not  the  least 
source  of  Hamlet's  inner  pain  was  memory, 
the  recollection  of  what  he  had  formerly  been. 
More  than  by  his  father's  ghost,  Hamlet  was 
haunted  by  his  dead  self.  Such  an  occasion 
as  this,  besides  outfacing  him  in  the  present, 
was  calculated  to  work  on  him  in  that  way. 
He  had  loved  Ophelia,  a  most  poignant  memory. 

As  to  his  incapacity  for  emotion,  we  do  not 
refer,  of  course,  to  passing  elations  of  mere  in- 
tellectual triumph,  as  when  he  worms  out  the 
secret  of  the  king's  guilt  —  if  that  may  be  called 
emotion.  It  was  the  breaking  down  of  all  the 
vital  relations  of  life,  beginning  with  his  mother, 


224      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

that  made  Hamlet's  life  a  tragedy.  Which- 
ever way  he  turned  he  was  faced  by  a  mother 
guilty  of  incest  and  easy  in  her  love;  an  uncle 
who  was  a  murderer  and  a  hypocrite;  a  love 
that  proved  a  disappointment;  a  court  that 
was  shallow  and  merely  political.  And  he 
was  incapacitated  to  have  emotion  in  the  face 
of  the  facts. 

He  was  a  man  not  only  of  the  profoundest 
intellect  but  of  the  richest  and  finest  nature. 
If  these  things  had  not  happened  there  would 
not  have  been  the  inward  tragedy.  If  Ophelia 
had  turned  out  to  meet  his  essential  ideals  of  a 
woman  (apart  from  any  ability  of  hers  to  take 
part  in  his  stern  business  in  life)  his  tragedy 
would  not  have  been  unmitigated.  But  Shake- 
speare has  taken  pains  to  make  it  utter  and  com- 
plete; it  is  most  systematically  complete. 
Therefore,  to  regard  Hamlet  as  still  loving 
Ophelia,  or  in  any  way  cherishing  the  ideal,  is 
to  work  at  cross-purposes  to  the  whole  intent 
of  the  play.  "The  fair  Ophelia"  —  this  is  his 
casual  comment  to  Horatio  upon  his  first  learn- 
ing who  it  is  that  is  being  buried. 

True,  Laertes'  emotion  is  not  of  the  deepest. 
It  is  his  nature  to  love  display,  to  be  melodra- 
matic. Various  critics  have  noted  this  with 
excellent  discrimination.  What  are  we  then  to 
conclude?  —  That  Hamlet  felt  real  emotion, 
true  sorrow  over  her  death;  and  that  he  jumped 
into  the  grave  out  of  mere  disdain  and  resent- 
ment of  Laertes'  exaggerated  expression  of 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      225 

love  ?  Are  we  to  infer  that  this  is  a  sort  of  aes- 
thetic protest  over  a  matter  of  bad  taste? 
Current  interpretations  of  the  incident  would 
leave  us  in  just  that  state  of  mind.  But  this 
is  not  the  point.  Hamlet  acted  out  of  pure 
pain.  This  is  the  whole  point  of  the  tragedy. 
It  was  a  pain  that  always  haunted  him,  but 
which  arose  under  conditions  to  a  poignancy 
that  was  unbearable.  There  is  in  his  life  neither 
self-pity  nor  a  cherishing  of  grief,  but  simple 
torture.  It  is  a  tragedy  not  of  blood  but  of 
pain.  In  it  death  and  blood  are  of  the  slightest 
significance.  If  we  may  attribute  to  it  any 
moral  as  a  whole  it  is  that  very  frequently  in 
this  world  it  is  the  best  that  suffer  the  most. 

The  reader  will  now  ask  —  and  it  is  a  fair 
question  —  if  Hamlet  has  been  incapacitated 
to  have  emotion,  how  is  it  that  he  weeps  after 
the  interview  with  his  mother  and  the  killing 
of  Polonius?  She  certainly  reports  that  he 
wept;  and  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  for 
he  probably  did;  and  most  feelingly.  Although 
I  have  not  space  in  the  midst  of  these  cruxes  to 
write  an  extended  analysis  of  Hamlet,  I  can 
hardly  leave  this  point  unexplained  and  incom- 
plete. 

Shakespeare  shows  us  this  incapacity  pro- 
gressively, as  a  growth  or  piling  up  of  the 
tragedy,  going  from  the  slighter  manifestations 
to  the  stronger.  To  show  this  to  the  complete 
satisfaction  of  the  reader  let  me  call  his  atten- 
tion to  just  one  more  instance,  after  which  we 


226      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

shall  be  in  a   position  to   understand    Shake- 
speare's method. 

The  transformation  in  Hamlet's  nature  be- 
gins with  the  ghost's  revelation  at  the  end  of 
the  first  act.  Immediately  afterward  we  see 
him  talking  to  the  soldiers.  By  his  strange 
words  he  feels  that  he  has  offended  them;  and 
he  says  — 

I  am  sorry  that  they  offend  you,  heartily; 
Yes,  faith,  heartily. 

Note  how  careful  Shakespeare  is  to  put  a 
complete  lack  of  heart  in  those  words;  and  also 
to  show  this  so  immediately  after  the  disillu- 
sioning experience.  A  man  who  felt  no  lack  of 
feeling  in  his  words  would  be  satisfied  with 
saying  simply  "I  am  sorry  they  offend  you." 
But  Hamlet  adds,  because  he  feels  this  lack, 
"heartily."  But  despite  this  effort  to  have  full 
feeling,  he  feels  an  inward  lack;  and  so  he  tries 
it  again:  "Yes,  faith,  heartily."  This  is  the 
same  thing  we  have  been  noting;  it  is  no  use 
for  Hamlet  really  to  try  to  feel  these  things 
which  it  seems  he  ought  to  say  and  do. 

Now  there  is  no  doubt  that  at  this  stage  of 
his  tragic  experiences  he  would  be  able  to  feel 
deeply  or  even  weep  over  the  inconstancy  of 
Ophelia  —  in  fact  we  do  find  that  he  comes  to 
her  later  in  a  great  state  of  distraction  and  di- 
shevelment  as  a  result  of  her  unwarranted  and 
unceremonious  "repelling"  of  his  letters  to  her. 
But  at  this  particular  stage,  immediately  after 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      227 

the  ghost  scene,  his  revelation  has  been  that 
of  the  hypocrisy  of  men,  and  this  poisons  his 
mingling  with  his  fellows. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  Hamlet  wept  or 
was  at  least  overcome  with  emotion  when 
Ophelia  first  showed  herself  inconstant  and  un- 
worthy. But  by  the  time  we  see  him  consign- 
ing her  to  a  "nunnery"  so  bitterly,  this  is  all 
over.  He  has  learned  another  lesson;  and  we 
do  not  weep  for  the  dead  more  than  once. 
Hence  his  genuinely  unfeeling  harshness  to- 
ward her;  there  has  been  a  revulsion  in  his 
sentiments  toward  women.  But  yet  his  mother 
is  left  —  the  one  great  relation  in  the  world  to 
him.  This  comes  next  in  order.  And  natu- 
rally when  he  sees  there  is  nothing  in  this  rela- 
tion, for  she  is  a  difficult  case,  and  when  the 
accidental  killing  is  piled  on  top  of  it,  he  weeps. 
But  never  again  will  he  weep  over  a  killing  or 
over  a  mother.  He  has  gone  through  that  to 
the  uttermost  depths  of  his  soul;  and  only 
another  vacancy  is  left.  From  which  it  will  be 
seen  that  when  I  say  he  was  "incapacitated  to 
have  emotion,"  I  am  referring  to  what  Shake- 
speare represented,  namely,  that  in  any  particu- 
lar case,  as  it  is  brought  forward  and  presented, 
he  is  incapacitated  to  have  that  particular 
emotion  again. 

Now,  instead  of  looking  at  the  order  of  the 
events  themselves,  which  as  we  have  seen  are 
progressive  and  growing  in  power;  let  us  look 
at  the  order  of  the  particular  passages  in  which 


228      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Shakespeare  expresses  or  shows  it  to  us.  It  is 
in  the  passages  that  he  makes  it  tacit. 

First  we  see  Hamlet,  in  a  mere  slight  sentence, 
struggling  with  a  lack  of  feeling  in  a  little  mat- 
ter of  politeness  —  his  relation  to  his  fellow 
men;  next  we  see  this  struggle  when  his  dark 
outlook  has  spoiled  the  world  in  general  for 
him  —  it  comes  out  in  an  aesthetic  sort  of  con- 
nection with  the  traveling  players;  next  it  has 
risen  in  power  and  we  see  that  he  has  lost 
such  vital  interest  in  human  affairs  themselves 
that  he  cannot  react  to  the  feeling  of  revenge 
against  the  king  even  when  he  imagines  direct 
unmanly  insult  to  spur  himself  on.  Finally 
at  the  grave  scene,  the  climax,  he  has  gone 
through  it  all  and  he  can  feel  no  emotion  at  all. 
He  makes  a  terrible  effort  to  be  a  man  among 
men,  to  feel  the  soft  sorrow  that  he  feels  a  hu- 
man being  should  experience;  but  it  is  no  use, 
his  great  effort,  an  extreme  writhing  under  the 
pain  of  his  condition,  is  a  mere  abortion  of  grief. 
He  has  run  the  gamut;  he  had  sorrowed  for 
Ophelia  before.  And  we  weep  for  the  dead  but 
once. 

This  solves  the  whole  question  of  Ophelia, 
the  seeming  inconsistency  of  which  is  so  much 
at  the  bottom  of  the  "mystery"  of  Hamlet. 
So  long  as  critics  persist  in  looking  at  Ophelia 
"in  the  round,"  seeing  her  charming  points, 
reasoning  that  Hamlet  loved  her  to  the  time 
of  her  death  and  using  this  as  an  explana- 
tion of  the  strange  grave  scene,  they  will 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      22Q 

never  solve  the  "mystery"  of  Hamlet  in  the 
world.  • 

It  will  not  do  to  follow  the  modem  method 
of  looking  at  the  characters  "in  the  round." 
If  you  want  to  understand  Hamlet  you  have 
got  to  look  at  things  from  Hamlet's  standpoint. 
And  this,  not  in  the  light  of  a  'priori  theory  but 
of  the  facts  themselves  just  as  Shakespeare 
presents  them.  In  every  case  Shakespeare 
will  explain  himself  utterly,  in  every  scene  and 
passage,  to  entire  consistency;  it  is  only  neces- 
sary for  us  to  furnish  the  sympathetic  insight 
and  feeling.  Hamlet  is  not  a  mystery.  To 
say  that  it  must  be  so,  for  all  time,  because 
"life  is  a  mystery"  is  entirely  beside  the  point. 
The  same  might  be  said  of  some  other  play  just 
as  well,  so  long  as  it  represents  life.  Anyone 
can  write  a  play  which  is  a  mystery,  inscrutable 
and  inconsistent;  but  great  men  do  not  write 
mysteries.  They  elucidate.  And  while  I  have 
not  space,  while  engaged  upon  cruxes,  to  go 
fully  into  Hamlet,  I  believe  that  to  anyone  who 
has  a  real  desire  to  understand  the  play  I  have 
here  furnished  the  most  valuable  first  step. 


DEATH'S  HERITAGE 

Death  is  my  Sonne  in  law,  death  is  my  Heire, 
My  Daughter  he  hath  wedded.     I  will  die 
And  leave  him  all  life  living,  all  is  death's. 

(First  Folio} 

Death  is  my  son-in-law,  Death  is  my  heir; 
My  daughter  he  hath  wedded;  I  will  die, 
And  leave  him  all;  life,  living,  all  is  Death's. 

(Romeo  and  Juliet,  iv,  5,  37,  Modern  Editions} 

As  will  be  observed,  the  first  collected  edition 
of  Shakespeare's  works  (1623)  has  the  grief- 
stricken  Capulet  say  that,  as  Death  is  his  heir 
in  taking  his  daughter  Juliet,  he  will  now  die 
along  with  her  and  leave  Death  "all  life  living." 

In  the  standard  text  of  today,  he  first  says 
he  will  leave  death  "all"  and  then  goes  on  to 
specify  what  that  all  consists  of,  namely  —  life, 
living.  Looking  at  this  latter  in  the  effort  to 
find  out  what  it  means,  we  find  ourselves  feeling 
about  for  the  distinction  intended  between 
those  similar  words,  life,  living.  As  we  have  to 
understand  the  distinction,  the  best  we  can 
make  of  it,  according  to  all  proper  word  usage, 
is  that  "life"  means  his  physical  life  or  exist- 
ence, and  "living"  refers  to  his  estate,  his  means 
of  subsistence.  We  therefore  have  Capulet  say- 
ing that  he  will  die  and  leave  death  his  all, 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      23! 

namely  his  life  and  fortune.  That  is  to  say  his 
own  personal  all;  —  else  what  can  it  mean? 

But  Shakespeare  does  not  mean  that.  Im- 
agine the  grief-stricken  Capulet,  at  the  supreme 
moment  of  his  passionate  and  inconsolable 
sorrow,  saying  that  he  will  leave  Death  his 
heir  to  all  and  then  going  on  in  a  spirit  of  speci- 
fication with  such  a  nonsensical  distinction! 
This  is  not  the  language  of  passion.  The  line 
of  the  Folio  has  been  discarded  in  favor  of  an 
ingenious  quibble  at  a  complete  sacrifice  of 
vocal  delivery;  it  halts  and  boggles  over  its 
petty  point  so  that  no  actor  could  bring  it  forth 
as  from  the  human  heart. 

The  Folio  says  the  right  thing  in  just  the 
right  way.  Death  is  the  heir  of  all  life.  The 
distracted  father  says  that  because  there  is 
consolation  in  including  the  whole  world  in 
Juliet's  doom  and  his  own.  He  dies  and  leaves 
the  whole  world  to  Death,  its  ultimate  heir. 
It  is  characteristic  of  Shakespeare's  work  (and 
hereby  he  is  strikingly  true  to  our  human  nature) 
that  in  time  of  deep  bereavement  the  whole 
universe  is  swept  along  in  the  stream  of  personal 
woe.  Lear  considers  the  storm  as  sighing  and 
weeping  in  his  behalf,  Othello  addresses  the 
stars,  Romeo  says,  "What  less  than  doomsday 
is  the  prince's  doom?"  We  see  the  world  with 
our  own  eyes.  In  such  a  time  old  Capulet 
looks  on  his  daughter  and  sees  Death  the  uni- 
versal heir.  "I  will  die  and  leave  him  all  life 
living"  —  this  simple  remark,  at  such  a  time, 


232      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

is  the  grand  speech  of  passion.  Consider  him, 
on  the  other  hand,  perplexing  English  with 
anything  like  this:  "I  will  die  and  leave  him  all; 
life,  living."  If  he  means  his  own  personal 
life  and  property  merely,  it  is  not  Shakespear- 
ean, for  Shakespeare  never  wrote  like  that; 
besides  which  the  statement  made  here  is  a 
truism  that  is  little  short  of  ridiculous.  Natu- 
rally if  he  died  he  would  leave  his  life;  and  if 
he  left  his  life  he  would  be  most  likely  to  leave 
his  living. 

For  some  reason,  possibly  because  they  could 
not  get  the  point  of  view,  editors  have  not  been 
able  to  accept  and  print  this  line  according  to 
the  Folio  rendition.  Capell  (1760)  made  it  "I 
will  die  and  leave  him  all;  life  leaving,  all  is 
death's."  This  became  the  standard  for  gen- 
erations; more  recently  it  has  settled  into  the 
form  that  we  have  now.  Some  early  editor 
evidently  thought  —  for  what  he  thought  we 
can  only  imagine  —  that  Capulet  did  not  own 
the  world  and  therefore  could  not  logically 
leave  it  to  death;  for  which  reason  the  heritage 
must  be  limited  to  Capulet's  personal  posses- 
sions. At  least  the  line  in  its  present  twist 
does  not  seem  to  say  anything  else.  The  work 
of  editing  Shakespeare  has  always  been  done  by 
very  conscientious  persons. 

The  most  scholarly  of  modern  editions  of  the 
play  are  "based"  on  the  Second  Quarto  instead 
of  the  Folio  because  the  Folio  is  considered  to 
have  been  based  on  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      233 

this  mental  method  of  "basing"  an  edition  of 
a  play  on  this  early  edition  or  that  is  largely  a 
fallacy.  The  Folio  has  at  least  10,000  typo- 
graphical errors  and  the  printers  of  the  Quartos 
were  no  more  dependable.  All  of  them  are 
useful  for  reference  and  comparison,  but  that 
is  all;  for  we  know  too  little  about  the  authority 
of  any  of  them.  The  final  edition  of  Shake- 
speare will  have  to  be  based  on  good  judgment 
and  Shakespearean  insight. 


THE  PLEASE-MAN'S  SMILE 

That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years  and  knows  the  trick 
To  make  my  lady  laugh  when  she's  disposed,  — 

(Love's  Labour's  Lost,  v,  2,  465) 

I  HAVE  no  doubt  that  the  "yeares"  of  the 
Quarto  should  have  been  youres  (yours)  —  a 
printer's  error  easily  made. 

The  whole  theme  of  this  long  passage  is 
privacy  of  understanding,  intimacy  between 
two  persons  with  regard  to  some  mutual 
secret;  and  Shakespeare's  word-picture  of  the 
character  sticks  strictly  to  this  idea  through- 
out. The  secret  of  the  masque  has  been  given 
away  beforehand  to  the  ladies  who  were  to  be 
tricked,  and  Shakespeare  here  characterizes, 
with  many  quick,  live  word-pictures,  the  sort 
of  ladies'-man  who  would  busy  himself  with 
carrying  the  tale  to  them  —  he  is  "some  carry- 
tale,  some  please-man,  some  slight  zany,  some 
mumble-news,  some  trencher-knight,  some 
Dick."  Then  follows  the  characterization 
quoted  above. 

Some  such  ladies'-man  (we  are  familiar  with 
the  type)  made  it  his  business  to  go  and  confide 
to  them  what  was  brewing.  Setting  Shakespeare 
entirely  aside  now,  and  referring  simply  to  our 
own  knowledge  of  human  nature,  what  always 
follows  in  such  a  case?  What  is  the  please- 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      235 

man's  reward?  There  ensues  a  period  of  in- 
timate understanding  between  the  confidential 
fellow  and  the  ladies;  he  can  converse  with 
them  by  their  shrewd  understanding  of  looks 
and  nods;  there  is  great  traffic  in  winks  and 
smiles;  and  all  to  the  complete  mystification 
of  third  parties  who  are  not  in  the  secret.  It 
is  especially  mysterious  to  other  gentlemen 
who  do  not  seem  to  be  on  so  intimate  a  basis 
with  the  fair.  This  is  the  please-man's  reward; 
and  Shakespeare  would  not  have  made  a  live 
picture  of  him  at  all  if  he  had  stopped  with 
those  epithets  and  not  drawn  them  to  some 
climax  of  particular  and  pat  description.  This 
he  does  in  describing  him  as  one  who  "smiles 
his  cheek  in  yours,"  the  meaning  of  which,  as 
I  would  understand  it,  is  as  follows. 

A  man  who  smiles  his  cheek  in  yours  is  one 
who,  entirely  because  of  some  mutual  under- 
standing, and  without  any  necessity  of  words, 
makes  you  smile  when  he  does,  or  smiles 
answeringly  when  you  do  —  as  in  a  mirror. 
His  smile  is  at  once  translatable  in  the  light  of 
the  mutual  secret;  the  other  smiles  in  return; 
the  smile  of  his  cheek  goes  directly  into  yours 
as  in  a  looking-glass.  Because  of  this  direct- 
ness, without  any  other  medium  than  the  smile, 
and  because  the  smiles  evidently  have  the 
same  source,  he  may  be  said  very  truly  to  be 
smiling  his  cheek  in  yours.  The  line,  when 
thus  viewed,  is  so  true  to  human  nature  that  it 
becomes  the  very  soul  and  climax  of  the 


236      SOME  TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

characterization.  It  shows  the  ladies'  please- 
man  actively  at  work  and  reaping  his  reward. 

All  present-day  texts  have  it  "in  years,"  the 
explanation  being:  "smiles  his  cheek  into 
wrinkles  that  give  him  the  look  of  age."  This 
is  inharmonious  with  the  whole  spirit  of  the 
picture;  it  is  foreign  to  the  theme.  Why 
should  Shakespeare  here  drag  in  the  idea  of  a 
haggard  and  aged  smile  —  especially  as  such  a 
smile  and  with  no  further  connection?  It  is 
more  Shakespearean  to  stick  to  the  subject,  to 
keep  directly  on  to  the  point  and  drive  it  deeper 
into  human  nature. 

Various  emendations  have  been  suggested  — 
Theobald  thought  it  ought  to  he  fleers;  Hanmer, 
tears;  Jackson,  yeas,  etc.  Furness,  in  lack  of 
a  plausible  emendation,  agrees  with  Warburton, 
Farmer  and  Steevens  that  it  is  "years"  refer- 
ring to  a  look  of  age.  An  understanding  of  the 
point  in  human  nature,  it  seems  to  me,  would 
have  suggested  yours,  which  is,  after  all,  the 
most  likely  typographical  error.  Shakespeare 
uses  the  word  yours  otherwhere  in  his  work; 
and  hundreds,  or  rather  thousands,  of  changes 
in  the  original  text  have  been  made  on  a  less 
evident  basis  of  typographical  error. 

The  line  immediately  following  this  drives 
home  the  same  meaning  —  "To  make  my 
lady  laugh  when  she's  disposed."  This  imme- 
diately makes  itself  consistent  with  the  con- 
text; and  there  is  nothing  so  Shakespearean 
as  sticking  to  the  subject. 


A  LOVE  DETAINED 

Sister,  you  know  he  promis'd  me  a  chaine, 
Would  that  alone,  a  love  he  would  detaine, 
So  he  would  keepe  fair  quarter  with  his  bed. 

(Comedy  of  Errors,  ii,  i,  107) 

THE  above  is  the  text  of  the  First  Folio,  a 
reading  that  passed  out  of  use  beginning  with 
the  Second  Folio  (1623).  All  efforts  to  read 
this  passage  as  it  stands  in  the  original  copies 
seem  to  be  confined  to  the  idea  that  a  "love" 
could  only  refer  to  the  woman  whom  Adriana 
supposed  to  be  keeping  her  husband  away 
from  his  bed;  in  which  case  her  wish  would  not 
make  consistent  good  sense.  Hence  the  sub- 
stitution of  "alone,  alone"  for  "alone  a  love" 
in  all  modern  editions. 

In  my  way  of  seeing  it,  the  First  Folio  reading 
makes  good  sense  while  the  other  does  not.  I 
think  it  to  be  evident  in  the  plays  that  in 
Shakespeare's  day,  or  at  least  in  his  usage,  any 
love  token  or  remembrance,  or  any  little  loving 
act  or  thought  was  spoken  of  as  a  "love." 
This  would  seem  a  quite  natural  usage.  For 
instance,  in  "King  John,"  iv,  4,  49,  Prince 
Arthur  quotes  himself  as  comforting  Hubert 
when  he  was  ill  — 


238      SOME   TEXTUAL   DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

Saying,  'What  lack  you'?  and  'Where  lies  your  grief?' 
Or  'What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you?' 

Here  the  word  "love"  would  certainly  seem 
to  be  used  in  the  sense  of  an  act  of  love.  In  A 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  ii,  2,  154,  Hermia 
exclaims,  "Speak,  of  all  loves!  I  almost  swoon 
with  fear."  This  would  be  equivalent  to  say- 
ing —  Of  all  loving  acts  you  could  perform  for 
me,  speak.  Again  in  "The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor"  we  have  a  like  usage  (ii,  2,  118)  as 
also  in  "Othello,"  iii,  I,  13,  though  here  the 
Quarto  reading  "of  all  loves"  has  been  done 
away  with  in  favor  of  "for  love's  sake." 

If  my  understanding  of  the  word  is  permissi- 
ble, the  "love"  referred  to  is  the  chain  itself 
which  is  mentioned  in  immediate  connection, 
a  love  token;  and  this  would  make  the  First 
Folio  reading  preferable  as  having  more  con- 
sistency and  continuity  of  thought.  And  why 
should  not  a  love-token  be  spoken  of  as  "a  love" 
inasmuch  as  it  is  a  separate  act  of  love? 

The  sense,  then,  would  be  as  follows.  Adri- 
ana,  who  is  afflicted  with  a  fear  that  her  hus- 
band is  being  kept  away  from  home  by  another 
woman,  suddenly  remembers  that  he  promised 
her  a  chain,  which  love-token  has  not  yet  been 
forthcoming;  and  as  this  fact  pops  into  her 
mind  in  the  present  connection  it  adds  to  her 
suspicions.  But  immediately,  in  a  woman's 
mood  of  being  willing  to  suffer  so  long  as  her 
wrongs  do  not  extend  too  far,  she  reflects  — 
"Sister,  you  know  he  promised  me  a  chain. 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE       239 

Would  that  a  love  alone  were  all  that  he  would 
detain  from  me,"  etc. 

I  suggest  this  reading  more  especially  be- 
cause the  present  text  —  "alone,  alone"  — 
does  not  make  satisfactory  sense  as  generally 
explained.  It  is  supposed  to  mean  simply  by 
himself  or  away  from  other  women.  But  when 
we  proceed  to  the  next  line  the  word  "so," 
which  must  be  taken  either  in  the  sense  of 
providing  or  of  thus,  does  not  fit  satisfactorily. 
The  first  makes  utter  nonsense  and  the  latter 
an  inane  truism.  Then,  too,  the  chain  is  men- 
tioned only  to  be  dropped  in  a  detached  sort 
of  way. 

It  is  generally  considered  that  Shakespeare 
wrote  "alone,  alone,"  and  that  the  printer  of 
the  First  Folio,  by  getting  a  letter  upside  down, 
turned  an  n  into  a  u,  which  latter  was  a  v  in 
Elizabethan  times.  But  it  is  a  rule  that  works 
both  ways;  the  printer  of  the  Second  Folio  pos- 
sibly turned  a  u  into  an  n.  In  any  case,  the 
ingenuity  of  a  typographical  theory  should  not 
blind  us  to  consideration  of  character,  situa- 
tion, continuity  of  sense  and  literary  needs  in 
general. 

The  same  understanding  of  "love"  would 
clear  up  that  long  passage  in  "All's  Well  That 
Ends  Well,"  beginning  with  i,  i,  180.  In  this 
case  the  love  tokens,  instead  of  gifts,  are 
thoughts  —  tokens  of  the  mind.  As  Ophelia 
says,  "Nature  is  fine  in  love,  and  where  Jt  is 
fine,  it  sends  some  precious  instance  of  itself 


240      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

after  the  thing  it  loves."  So  Helena  sends  her 
whole  multitude  of  emotions,  her  various 
thoughts  and  inward  attitudes  after  the  absent 
Bertram.  The  fact  that  so  much  might  thus 
be  cleared  up  is  in  itself  an  indication  that 
there  is  something  in  the  Shakespearean  use 
of  the  word  which  editors  have  missed. 


ADRIANA'S  POINT  OF  VIEW 

I  see  the  jewel  best  enamelled 
Will  lose  his  beauty;  yet  the  gold  bides  still 
That  others  touch,  and  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold;  and  no  man  that  hath  a  name 
By  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 

(Comedy  of  Errors,  ii,  I,  109) 

Keep  then  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed; 
I  live  distained,  thou  undishonored. 

(ii,  I,  147) 

THESE  passages,  which  comprise  two  of  the 
three  most  famous  difficulties  in  "The  Comedy 
of  Errors,"  are  best  solved  together  because 
they  embody  the  same  point  of  view.  Aside 
from  the  fact  that  it  has  so  long  baffled  students 
of  Shakespeare,  the  point  of  view  is  interest- 
ing because  Shakespeare  here  carries  to  its 
logical  conclusion  the  biblical  view  that  man  and 
wife  are  flesh  of  one  flesh.  At  the  same  time 
it  is  his  strongest  means  of  giving  us  an  insight 
of  one  of  his  ideal  women. 

Adriana  believed,  in  the  most  absolute  and 
unqualified  sense,  that  husband  and  wife  are 
one.  She  believes  this  just  as  the  theologian 
believes  that  the  Trinity  is  one,  and  with  quite 
as  metaphysical  a  thoroughness.  Husband 
and  wife  together  form  a  self;  each  half  of  that 


242      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

self  is  the  other;  neither  of  them,  as  an  indi- 
vidual, is  so  great  and  perfect  and  beautiful  a 
being  as  the  self  that  is  formed  by  both.  They 
are,  in  short,  flesh  of  one  flesh;  and  there  is 
really  no  self  of  one  without  regard  to  the 
other.  This  being  true,  the  facts  must  have 
their  logical  outcome.  If  a  man  commits 
adultery,  it  is  his  wife's  virtue  that  is  lost,  not 
merely  his  own. 

To  this  point  of  view  we  must  add  another 
fact  which  Adriana  took  into  account  when 
considering  her  status  as  the  wife  of  an  un- 
faithful husband.  According  to  the  custom  of 
the  world,  the  man  is  not  greatly  dishonored. 
As  to  this  latter,  neither  does  her  reputation 
suffer  for  his  misdeeds;  but  that  is  not  what 
concerns  her.  She  is  concerned  about  her 
virtue  in  fact,  and  she  does  not  confuse  it  with 
mere  reputation.  Thus,  when  he  is  unchaste, 
her  virtue  suffers,  and  his  reputation  does  not. 
Shakespeare  makes  her  arguments  on  this 
rather  unusual  point  the  means  of  bringing 
vividly  to  our  minds  a  fine  woman's  sense  of 
revulsion  toward  any  violation  of  the  married 
relation,  and  this  apart  from  any  mere  jealousy 
on  her  part.  He  makes  this  latter  plain  by 
placing  her  in  contrast  with  her  sister  who  is 
always  accusing  her  of  being  merely  jealous. 

The  Bible  states  in  so  many  words  that  man 
and  wife  are  "one  flesh";  but  when  Shake- 
speare follows  it  out  to  this  logical  conclusion 
it  seems  somewhat  strange  and  metaphysical. 


SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      243 

However,  the  reason  that  critics  have  not  been 
able  to  come  to  any  positive  conclusion  as  to 
the  meaning  of  these  passages  is  that  they  have 
not  entered  with  full  sympathy  into  the  wo- 
man's point  of  view  and  accepted  what  is  plainly 
put  before  them. 

The  "enamel"  of  this  figurative  jewel  is  her 
beauty;  the  solid  gold  her  virtue.  As  her 
husband  seems  to  have  lost  his  early  infatua- 
tion with  her  she  feels  that  her  beauty  has 
faded.  While  this  superficial  adornment  of  a 
woman  may  be  somewhat  worn  with  her  she 
feels  that  the  solid  gold  of  virtue  is  left.  So 
much  certain  critics  have  perceived,  uncer- 
tainly; but  now  comes  the  crux  of  her  point 
of  view. 

That  others  touch  and  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold. 

She  here  means  that  her  own  virtue  is  being 
lost  by  other  women  touching  that  of  her 
husband.  If  we  have  accepted  the  point  of 
view  which  I  have  stated,  this  must  be  perfectly 
plain;  and  when  we  stop  to  consider  it  the 
idea  is  not  so  very  far-fetched;  for  virtue  is  an 
ideal,  a  state  of  inner  purity  as  well  as  a  mere 
act;  and  so  a  woman  like  Adriana  might  easily 
feel  that  when  the  virtue  of  their  mutual 
relation  is  contaminated  her  own  virtue  be- 
comes as  nothing.  Certainly  if  she  did  not 
have  some  such  feeling  her  ideals  would  not  be 
very  high;  and  Shakespeare  deals  largely  with 


244      SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

ideals  —  "There  is  nothing  good  or  bad   but 
thinking  makes  it  so." 

and  no  man  that  hath  a  name 
By  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 

As  a  man  who  has  a  good  name,  an  ideal 
character,  does  not  counterfeit  and  debase 
gold,  so  a  man  who  has  real  virtue  will  safe- 
guard its  purity.  This  brings  us  at  once  to  an 
understanding  of  the  second  passage,  the 
solution  of  which  includes  the  whole  point  of 
view  that  has  now  been  set  forth.  She  is  here 
addressing  her  husband  personally: 

Keep  then,  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed; 
I  live  distained,  thou  undishonored. 

This  distained  is  the  reading  of  the  First 
Folio  (1623),  the  word  at  that  time  having 
the  same  meaning  as  it  has  now  —  stained.  It 
is  a  poetical  usage.  She  is  therefore  saying 
that  so  long  as  her  husband  has  violated  the 
relation  between  them,  her  own  virtue  has 
been  stained  while  he  has  as  good  a  reputation 
as  ever.  As  commentators  could  never  see  how 
the  husband's  chastity  could  be  considered  as 
affecting  the  wife's  chastity  so  long  as  her  own 
acts  were  pure,  they  have  considered  that  dis- 
tained was  a  printer's  error  in  the  original  edi- 
tion. The  word  was  therefore  changed  to 
unstained,  an  emendation  that  has  been  ac- 
cepted by  editors  for  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years.  The  change  was  made  by  Hanmer, 
1744;  and  the  present-day  standard  among 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      245 

Shakespeare  scholars,  the  Globe  edition,  still 
has  unstained.  We  should  put  back  per- 
manently the  word  as  it  stands  in  the  First 
Folio.  It  becomes  consistent  as  soon  as  we 
understand  the  tenor  of  Adriana's  remarks  as 
a  whole. 

It  is  interesting,  with  this  general  view  of 
marriage  in  mind,  to  re-read  "The  Phoenix  and 
the  Turtle."  Here  we  see  Shakespeare  ex- 
pressing the  same  idea  in  a  more  abstract  and 
metaphysical  way. 

So  they  loved  as  love  in  twain 
Had  the  essence  but  in  one; 
Two  distincts,  division  none; 
Number  there  in  love  was  slain. 

So  between  them  love  did  shine 
That  the  turtle  saw  his  right 
Flaming  in  the  Phoenix'  sight; 
Either  was  the  other's  mine. 

Property  was  thus  appalled, 
That  the  self  was  not  the  same: 
Single  nature's  double  name 
Neither  two  nor  one  was  called. 

Reason  in  itself  confounded, 
Saw  division  grow  together, 
To  themselves  yet  either  neither 
Simple  were  so  well  compounded. 

We  here  see  that  Shakespeare  worked  upon 
the  same  essential  view  outside  of  his  treat- 
ment of  it  in  connection  with  Adriana.  Note 
in  the  above  that  "Either  was  the  other's 
mine,"  does  not  simply  mean  that  each  be- 
longed to  the  other.  It  means,  as  we  are  now 


246      SOME   TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE 

in  a  position  to  understand,  that  each  was  the 
other's  self — "mine"  in  every  regard  that  me 
could  convey;  and  in  the  same  thorough  ac- 
ceptation that  Adriana  regarded  married  union. 
This  idea  was  native  to  Shakespeare's  mind; 
and  in  the  play  he  simply  gave  it  more  concrete 
illustration.  That  the  critics  of  all  time  have 
been  so  confused  to  get  sense  out  of  it  simply 
proves  our  explanation  as  Shakespearean,  for 
there  indeed,  as  the  poet  says,  we  see  "reason 
in  itself  confounded." 

So  far  I  have  done  little  more  than  to  state 
the  basis  of  my  explanation;  but  as  my  proposi- 
tion is  to  restore  and  establish  the  original 
text  for  all  time,  and  give  it  this  wholly  con- 
sistent interpretation,  the  reader  will  want 
something  more  in  the  way  of  proof.  This  is 
easily  furnished. 

Turn  to  "The  Comedy  of  Errors,"  ii,  2,  120 
to  131  and  hear  Adriana  lecturing  her  husband 
(as  she  supposes). 

How  comes  it  now  my  husband,  O,  how  comes  it, 

That  thou  art  thus  estranged  from  thyself? 

Thyself  I  call  it,  being  strange  to  me, 

That  individable,  incorporate, 

Am  better  than  thy  dear  selPs  better  part. 

Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me! 

For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  may'st  thou  fall 

A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulf 

And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again, 

Without  addition  or  diminishing, 

As  take  from  me  thyself  and  not  me  too. 

Adriana  here  gives  it  as  metaphysical  a 
statement  as  we  find  in  "The  Phoenix  and  the 


SOME  TEXTUAL  DIFFICULTIES   IN   SHAKESPEARE      247 

Turtle"  —  marriage  a  Duality  of  two  that  are 
one  essence  just  as  the  Trinity  is  of  three. 

But  a  less  ingenious  statement  will  bring 
it  home  at  once  to  the  everyday  intellect. 
Farther  on  she  makes  this  very  definite  state- 
ment as  to  her  own  relation  to  other  women 
and  her  husband's  unchastity.  She  considers 
it  her  own  disgrace. 

I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot; 
My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust; 
For  if  we  two   be  one  and  thou  play  false, 
I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  flesh, 
Being  strumpeted  by  thy  contagion. 

This  proves  our  interpretation  of  the  doubt- 
ful passages  absolutely.  All  that  she  says  is 
consistent  with  the  point  of  view  set  down. 
The  "unstained"  of  modern  editions  is  wrong. 
Nor  must  editors  who  retain  "distained"  do  it 
upon  the  basis  of  Knight  who  gave  it  a  defini- 
tion opposite  to  its  sense  by  considering  that 
Shakespeare  was  confused  in  his  vocabulary 
and  meant  unstained  from  the  standpoint  of 
"dis-stained." 


INDEX 


Acting,  lines  fitted  for,  14 

Agriculture,       Shakespeare's 
knowledge  of,  193-194 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well, 
Diana  and  Bertram,  8 

Angelo,  character  of,  32,  69 

Anticipation,  art  of,  68,  99, 
210,  217 

Apposition,  antithesis  and  con- 
trast, 17,  22,  32,  91,  196 

Archbishop,  Wolsey  character- 
ized, 187;  Scroop,  200-201 

Aristocracy,  nature  of,  158-160 

Astronomy,  Shakespeare  and 
Ptolemaic,  103 

Audience,  the  Globe's  appre- 
ciation of  Prince  Hal,  89; 
understanding  of  scene  in 
Tempest,  130;  knowledge 
of  "cut,"  166,167 

Bank  and  shoal,  meaning  in 
Macbeth,  75 

Central  ideas,  interpretation 
by,  208 

Character,  interpretation  of 
lines  by,  22,  52,  74,  126, 
136,  184,  197 

Chess-playing,  in  Tempest, 
128-130 

Chivalry  and  knighthood,  na- 
ture of,  79 

Cleopatra,   femininity  of,    133 

Climatic  and  pivotal  pas- 
sages, 109,  ill,  113,  127 

Cloten,  characterized,  57-58 

Clothier's  yard,  defined,  86,  87 


Coleridge,  puzzled,  161 
Contrast,  of  characters,  137 
Critics,  their  failure  to  connect 
parts,  52,  78,  82,  241;  mere 
verbal  methods,  114,  125, 
126,  136,  174;  wrong  sen- 
tence division,  3,  13;  a  failing 
of,  152;  loose  methods,  132; 
poetic  ear  needed,  18;  look- 
ing at  characters  "in  round," 
229 

Dialogue,  highest  type  of,  1 86 

Falconry,  practice  of,  II 
Figures    of   speech,    unity    of, 

9;    in  time  of  passion,    10; 

their    essential    nature,    46; 

worn  out  by  use,  61;  Shake- 
speare's policy  in  regard  to, 

4,  104 

Flattery,  art  of,  23,  24,  188 
Folios,   first  folio   correct,    13, 

25,  55,   161,  203,  231,  245; 

first    folio     in    error,     172; 

second  folio  not  independent 

source,  50 
Furness,    20,    109,    116,    126, 

132,  134 

Gesture,    words    suiting,     14, 

15,19 

Government  and  law,  Shake- 
speare's theory  of,  27-32 

Hamlet,  character  of  Polonius, 
20-25;  central  idea  of  solil- 
oquy* 35~37>  Hamlet  not 
inconsistent,  204;  not  in- 


250 


INDEX 


sane,  217;  psychology  of, 
218-219;  compared  with 
Romeo,  222;  a  dead  self, 
223;  gradually  unfolded,  228; 
not  a  mystery,  229 

Henry  IV,  Part  II,  characters 
of  play  analyzed,  136-142 

"  Hopelessly  corrupt,"  Neil- 
son's  four  passages,  12,  27, 

44»  195 
Horsemanship,  of  Macbeth,  75, 

76,78 
Human    nature,    Shakespeare 

true  to,  4,  20, 42, 98,  127 
Hunting,  sight  and  scent,  69 

Insanity,  Hamlet,  217;  Shake- 
speare's depiction  of  its  na- 
ture, 84,  85 

"  Intention/'Elizabethan  mean- 
ing, 103 

Interpretation  of  obscure  lines, 
See  Human  nature,  Char- 
acter, Central  ideas,  Play  as 
a  whole,  Apposition  and 
Contrast 

Irving  (Henry)  and  Measure 
for  Measure,  27 

Italian  women,  parallel  be- 
tween Diana  and  Juliet,  8, 
9,44 

Knighthood,  ceremonial  of 
dubbing,  80,  8 1 

Lacuna,  supposed  instance,  26 

Language,  nature  of,  61,  188; 

worn  phrases  avoided,   185; 

fundamental   use  of  words, 

88,  113 

Lear,  insanity  of,  84,  86;  cliff 
episode,     its     beauty,     112; 
remarkable  instance  of  sus- 
pended interest,  114 
Leontes,  character  of,  96,  109 
Love,   self-abnegation  of,    129 
Love's    Labour's    Lost,    char- 
acters described,  53,  57 


Macbeth,  his  horsemanship, 
7S>  76,  78 

Marlowe,  lines  compared  with 
Shakespeare's,  190 

Marriage,  Adriana's  ideas  of, 
241,  242 

Measure  for  Measure,  the  gen- 
eral purport,  27 

Merchant  of  Venice,  scene  ex- 
plained, 175-181 

Metaphysics,  in  As  You  Like 
It,  147,  152 

Metre,  purposely  irregular,  18 

Miracles,  nature  of,  no 

Motherhood,  Leontes'  theory 
of,  101 

Opening  lines,  dramatic  art  in, 
29,  32,  33,  43,  74,  89,  130 

Ophelia,  like  Polonius,  25 

Organization,  Shakespeare's 
art  of,  loo 

Othello,  his  feeling  of  obloquy, 
171 

Parallel  passages,  25,  95,  156 
Phoenix  and  Turtle,  note  on, 

245-246 

Pistol,  his  conversation,  72-73 
Play    as    a    whole,    governing 

interpretation,    27,    31,    34, 

60,  70,    91,    108,    1 10,    127, 

174,  175,  190,  224 
Plot  making,  its  deeper  aspects, 

2II-2I2 

Plummet,  meaning  of,  65 

Point  of  view  anticipated, 
remarkable  instance  of,  76 

Political  economy,  in  Meas- 
ure for  Measure,  28,  29 

Polonius,  character  of,  21-22 

Preconceptions,  disadvantages 
of,  5,  12,  42 

Prince  Hal,  humor  of  his 
reform,  89 

Psychology  in  trifles,  165,  168, 
188,  199,  200;  of  the  art  of 
writing,  2 1 1-2 1 2 


INDEX 


Punctuation,  difficulties  with, 
41,49,  50,67,  131,  132,  135, 
144,  145,  147,  163,  173,  180, 
183,  203 

Puns,  63,  93 

"Purposely  meaningless"  lines, 
38,  164 

Reiteration,        Shakespearean 

policy,  113 
Romeo  and  Hamlet,  a  parallel, 

222 
Runaway's      eyes,      Furness' 

comment,  i;    Dowden's,  13 

Scar,  meaning  of,  45-47 
Scroop,  Archbishop,  198-202 
Shakespeare's  mind,  his  work 
organic,  60,    178,   180,   207; 
ability   to   do   many   things 
at  once,  186,  208;    a  funda- 
mental   thinker,    113,    153, 
1 60,    184,    1 88,    120;    more 
than  a  plot-maker,  211,  212 
Surprise,  art  of,  60;    psycho- 
logically used,  114 
Suspended     interest,     art    of, 
33,  H4 


Tempest,  scene  explained,  127- 

130 
Theobald,     his     emendations, 

33,     56,     114,      173,     174, 

178 
Theories,    must    be    based   on 

fact,  1 6,  64-66 
Typographical    error,    theories 

of,  18,  30,  31,  49,  113,  145, 

239 

Unfolding  of  plot  and  ideas, 
38,  68,  75 

Verbal  auxiliaries  examined, 
184 

Wink,  meaning  of,  5-6 

Wolsey,  characterized,  184- 
188 

Womanhood,  Katherine,  5-6; 
Diana  and  Juliet,  8-9;  views 
of,  44,  45,  48;  Cleopatra's 
femininity,  133;  character 
of  Lavinia,  155-156;  Adri- 
ana's  view  of  marriage,  241- 
24S 


14  DAY  USE 

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LOAN  DEPT. 


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